


Before Sunrise

by paceyjay



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paceyjay/pseuds/paceyjay
Summary: A young Patrick and David meet on a train in Europe and decide to spend one night together, getting to know each other while wandering a foreign city. Before Sunrise AU





	1. The Train

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the film Before Sunrise. You don't need to see the movie to understand the fic, but it might be more fun if you do! Also, it's truly my favorite movie of all time so you should probably just watch it anyway.
> 
> In this fic, Patrick and David are both in their early 20s, which would mean it takes place in the early 2000s-ish? Schitt's Creek does not have the most solid timeline so it's hard to say, but that rough estimate should be enough to give you an idea.

“Geh zu deiner Mutter!”

Patrick tore his eyes away from the window to look at the couple again. They’d been arguing for the past ten minutes, their booming voices carrying throughout the train.

“’Geh zu deiner Mutter zurueck,’ ich kann es nicht mehr hoeren, immer das Gleiche. Immer das Gleiche. Ich kann es nicht hoerren!”

The man loosened his tie with a scowl as he scoffed and shook his head. Patrick turned to gaze out the window again and attempt to tune them out, but he looked back when he noticed a man seated across the aisle from the couple stand and grab his bag. Patrick watched as he walked toward him, sliding into the seat directly across from Patrick. He tossed his bag onto the empty seat next to him and crossed his legs, getting back to the book that he had been trying to read while feet away from the screaming couple.

He was dressed in what Patrick could only describe as a Danny Zuko costume: leather jacket over a white t-shirt, tight black jeans, and black high-tops. He wouldn’t be surprised if he whipped a comb out of his back pocket and started slicking back his dark wavy hair.

“Do you have any idea what they’re arguing about?” Patrick asked him, nodding toward the couple.

The man glanced up at Patrick, silently raising an eyebrow.

“Do you… do you speak English?”

“Yes. Um, yes, sorry.” The man cleared his throat and closed his book, his fingers holding his page as he leaned forward and looked at the couple, preparing to translate. “‘Three fingers up the ass was too much, Sharon.’ ‘Well, _excuse me_ , Paul, you liked it when _Rhonda_ and her _sausage fingers_ went for it-”

Patrick smiled at the man’s deadpan expression. “You have no idea what they’re saying, do you?”

He sat back in his seat and pursed his lips. “Nope, not a clue. I think it's German”

Patrick smirked. “You’re American,” he pointed out, noticing the surprisingly non-foreign accent.

“Yes. Well, I’ve lived over here for a while now but yes, born in the land of the free and the home of the brave,” he proclaimed, shaking his fist with feigned enthusiasm before dropping his chin and once again returning to his book.

They sat in silence for a moment, Patrick staring out the window, letting his eyes lose focus as the trees whizzed past. He considered sleeping but he’d already napped for hours and there were far too many thoughts racing through his head for him to be lucky enough to drift off again.

The guy across from him was a welcome distraction, and Patrick couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of his eye. His brow was furrowed as he turned the page gently, the sound of the paper inaudible over the rumble of the train.  Patrick’s eyes fell to the cover of the book: _Brief Interviews with Hideous Men_. He opened his mouth to ask about it but was interrupted by the couple’s shouting growing louder, the woman poking the man’s chest to emphasize whatever it was she was saying.

“Yikes.” Patrick’s new seatmate grimaced, his eyes not leaving the pages of his book. “I can’t decide if I’m scared they’re going to start having angry hate sex or if I’d prefer it.”

Patrick chuckled. “You know, as fun as that sounds, I was going to head to the lounge car to get something to eat. You’re welcome to join me, unless you’re too captivated by the live soap opera we’re being treated to.”

The man looked up, his mouth twisted to the side in a near-smirk has he mulled over the proposal.

“Sure,” he said, closing his book and shoving it in his bag. “Voyeurism was never really my thing.”

 

 * * * * *

 

“So what about you?” The man asked as he fiddled unconsciously with the corners of the menu. “You’re American too. Typical white college boy escaping his shitty little town for the first time ever and backpacking across Europe?”

“Actually, yes, exactly that," Patrick admitted, wincing. "Am I that transparent?”

“Absolutely. You have that whole wonderbread look about you, like ‘I grew up on a farm, my dad drove the tractor while my mom stayed home and made crafts to sell at the monthly bazaar at my elementary school.’”

Patrick laughed. “Close enough.”

“And now you’re here exploring the great wide world trying to find yourself.”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds pathetic and pretentious all at the same time.”

“And let me assure you, it is both.”

“Ouch,” Patrick teased, clutching his chest. “Hey, for the record, I did also come to visit a friend who’s studying abroad.”

The man gasped, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “Well that changes everything, now your journey is unique and meaningful. How very cultured of you. Please tell me more, my mind is swimming with questions.”

Patrick couldn’t help but grin. The guy was effortlessly captivating, from the way he talked with his hands to his animated facial expressions.  

“What about you? You went from a lowly American to a fancy European?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he replied, putting on a posh accent. “My family moved us to Paris when I was ten.”

That made complete sense to Patrick. While his little knowledge of Europe was still laughable even after spending a summer wandering across the continent, he assumed people in Paris tended to look like the enigma sitting before him.

“So that’s where you’re headed? Back to Paris?”

David hummed his confirmation. “I just went to Budapest for the weekend for an art exhibit.”

“Ah, I see. And you opted to take a, what, twenty-hour train ride rather than fly in hopes that you would get to watch an angry German couple have hate sex?”

“At least on a train I would live to tell the tale,” he shot back, clearly enjoying the developing rapport as much as Patrick was.  “And where is the next stop on your little adventure?”

“Vienna.”

“Vienna?” The man asked, looking confused. He beamed his thanks as their sandwiches were placed in front of them, his expression falling back into one of bewilderment as the waiter walked away. “What’s in Vienna?”

Patrick shrugged. “No idea. I fly out of there tomorrow.”

“Heading home so soon?” he asked around a mouthful of roast beef on rye.

“Yeah, I’d planned to stay a little longer, but…” Patrick shrugged again, searching for the words. “Classes start up again in a few weeks anyways so my mom’ll be happy to have some time with me before then.”

“What are you going to school for?”

“Business.”

The man frowned and closed his eyes, looking as if he’d just received the worst news of his life. “Mkay, sorry I asked.” He shuddered before shoving another bite into his mouth.

Patrick laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Yeah. Although after this trip I really don’t know what I want anymore.”

“The spiritual awakening, right, right.”

Patrick smiled but then looked out the window full of thought. “It’s just… I’ve been to so many places these past couple months, and every time I sit on another train and look out another window, I start to think... there’s so many people in this world, I mean, _so_ many. And so many beautiful, amazing, breathtaking places… I don’t know, it just makes me feel like nothing I ever do with my life will be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick replied genuinely.

They were both silent for a moment, and Patrick wondered if he should feel more uncomfortable about the fact that he just unloaded that on a stranger. But it felt nice to say it out loud, the thoughts that had been trying to make sense of for months.

“You know, trains always make me a little crazy too,” the man said, breaking the silence. “I mean, not as crazy as planes because they aren’t going to plummet like a million miles and crash so violently that your body will never be identified-“

“That must have been a fun flight when you were ten.”

“I’m not saying children _should_ take Xanax but I am saying it’s the reason tiny little heart didn’t explode from sheer panic.”

Patrick’s eyes widened. “I think maybe you’re lucky it didn’t _cause_ your heart to explode-“

The man waved his hands in front of his face. “Anyways, something about trains just makes me think weird thoughts that exist nowhere else.”

“Go on,” Patrick prompted, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his seat.

“Okay so like, celebrities, right? There’s this fascination, this obsession with celebrities. People we’ve never met. We love these people in a way that we’ll never love the people actually in our lives.”

“I would argue that that is not a universal sentiment-“

“But,” he said, holding up a finger to silence Patrick and indicating that he was about to get to the good part. “What if we _did_ know them. Not like, through meeting them, but through,” he took a dramatic pause, “…a _camera_.”

“You mean like reality shows.”

“No, no. Just a camera. Like cameras mounted in their homes. Or their car. Or… in their watch or something, I don’t know." His hands were flailing wildly now, as if searching the air for his thoughts. "And people just watch them. Watch them eat breakfast, brush their teeth, moisturize, drive to work. It’s like a zoo, but instead of looking at them through a window you’re looking through a TV screen, and instead of being physically held captive they’re just like, figuratively held captive.”

Patrick squinted and tried to contain his smirk. “So, like _The Truman Show_?”

The man’s mouth tightened as his eyes pierced Patrick’s.

“It’s a movie with Jim Carrey-”

“I know what it is,” the man interrupted sharply, clearly flustered that his idea wasn’t as original as he’d thought.

Patrick chuckled, feeling comfortable in the easy banter. “You know, you’re right. Your train thoughts _are_ weirder than mine.”

The man narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think I ever said that…”

“Well, if your intention was to make me feel less crazy then thank you, it worked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man replied, but his small smile said otherwise.

Patrick grinned and looked around the lounge car, the only other people present being a young couple at the other end of the car holding hands across the table. They were speaking quietly, the woman laughing softly at everything the man said, the man staring at the woman like she was the only person in the world. Patrick wondered if they’d met on the train; and then, wondered what it would have been like if he’d met his new acquaintance a few hours earlier.

An announcement came suddenly, telling them they were arriving in Vienna. Patrick bit his lip as he mustered up the courage to ask what he so desperately wanted to ask.

“You know, while we’re both confessing our craziness, I’ve got a pretty wacky idea.”

“Oh yeah? A real _wacky_ one, huh?” the man asked mockingly.

“Why don’t you get off in Vienna with me?”

The man’s smile faltered a bit, visibly caught off guard. “What?”

Patrick could feel his heart pounding in his throat. “My flight is tomorrow morning, I have nothing to do, nowhere to stay. I was just going to wander the city ‘til sunrise. And I think that might be more fun to do with you.”

The man regained his composure, the playful expression returning to his face. “Sounds like exactly what a serial killer might say to lure his next victim.”

“Fair. But the offer still stands.” Patrick stood and grabbed his bag, watching nervously as the man chewed his lip. “Listen, as someone who just went on a spiritual awakening, I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that if you don’t, you’re always going to wonder 'what if.'”

The man looked down and, after what seemed like forever, nodded. “Okay.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows, completely unprepared for that answer. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said confidently, grabbing his own bag and sliding out of the booth.

“Okay.” Patrick beamed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and extending his hand. “I’m Patrick, by the way.”

The man took his hand and shook it firmly as he looked into his eyes and smiled. “David.”


	2. The Tram

Patrick took David’s bag and set it on top of his, closing the locker and stuffing the key deep in his pocket.

“So,” he said, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So.” David looked around, scratching the back of his neck.

“I guess we should just-“

“Walk, yeah, right.”

They made their way down the cobblestone street, the awkwardness that seemed to hit them suddenly when they got off the train now hanging over them as they walked.

After a few minutes of silence, they came to a bridge, both of them slowing their paces until they reached the edge, stopping to gaze beyond the bold green rail.

“So this is weird,” Patrick blurted as they looked out at the water, breaking the silence for the first time since they’d gotten off the train.

“It’s weird, right?” David concurred quickly as if he’d been holding back the same thought. “Yeah.”

Patrick nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling his cheeks grow pink as he wondered what came over him in that moment when he asked David to get off the train.

“But it’s also, like, strangely okay.”

Patrick looked up at David, surprised and relieved. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. It is.”

The side of Patrick’s mouth pulled up into a smile as he nodded, sharing the same unexplainable sentiment.

“Should we get, like, a brochure or something?” David put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as he looked around.

“After randomly getting off a train together to explore the city, a brochure kind of feels like cheating.”

“Perhaps just a small pamphlet?”

“Where’s the spontaneity?”

“ _Right_. I mean, as you said, we are two strangers who randomly decided to get off a train together in a foreign city before even knowing each other’s names, but no you’re totally right, we could really use some more spontaneity.”

Patrick laughed as he leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms and watching David scan the area. David chewed the side of his mouth as he squinted at the passersby, finally stopping a young man strolling past them.

“Excuse me, hi, do you speak English?”

The man stopped walking and straightened his glasses as he nodded.

“We’re just in town for the night, any recommendations on what we should see or do? Give us Vienna’s hottest.”

The man rubbed at the back of his head and looked around, apparently struggling to come up with anything. “Uhh, well, the Prater.”

“Oooh the Prater,” David repeated with enthusiasm. “What’s that?”

“Uh, has big Ferris wheel, yes? Ferris wheel, you know, goes round and round very high.” The man’s finger whirled in a circle to demonstrate.

Patrick watched with amusement as David’s smile switched from genuine to phony excitement, his patience with the man wearing thin.

“Yes, yes, I’m familiar, wow, okay, putting that on our list. Patrick, did you get that?” David looked over at him, his eyebrows raised as he made the same circular motion with his finger. “Big Ferris wheel? You write that down?”

Patrick tapped his temple. “Got it.”

“Excellent.” David clapped his hands and turned back to the man. “Thanks so much!”

The local gave them a small wave and sauntered away as Patrick and David began moseying in the opposite direction.

“He said a Ferris wheel,” David remarked with the same put-on enthusiasm.

“Oh, I heard him.”

“A bucket list item, for sure. _So_ glad we _spontaneously_ asked him.”

“We’ll grab a brochure if we see one,” Patrick conceded.

David patted Patrick’s shoulder as they continued to make their way across the bridge. “Yes, we will.”

 

*****

They hopped aboard a tram, David leading the way to some cozy seats in the back. There was plenty of room for both of them, but David let his thigh rest against Patrick’s anyway, the warmth between them comfortable in the afternoon’s cool breeze.

They sat in silence as the tram began to move, both looking ahead at the other passengers. Patrick noticed yet another couple a few seats down, holding hands and smiling dopily at each other between kisses. It seemed that everywhere he looked today he saw people in love. Maybe Vienna was just a city of romance with its imperial buildings and beautiful canals, but Patrick couldn’t help but consider the possibility that maybe there weren’t more public displays of affection around him than usual; perhaps he was just more aware of them now. Because it seemed that he’d suddenly started to notice them after meeting David on the train, and his head got foggy when he thought about what that might mean.

“Thank God they’re too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to notice you staring at them with what some might call creepy stalker eyes.”

Patrick snapped out of his thoughts, rolling his eyes and nudging David with his shoulder.

“I was just thinking that if we’re going to spend the next however many hours together, we should play a game I like to call _getting the hard-hitting questions out of the way_.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“I’ll go first. Have you ever been that in love?” Patrick asked, nodding toward the couple he’d been gawking at.

David cocked his head. “Would we call that love? I’d argue that the Jerry Springer couple on the train were more exemplary of ‘in love’ than those two.”

Patrick stared at him for a moment, scrutinizing his expression before speaking. “You see, I want to think that you’re kidding but your face isn’t doing that sarcastic thing that tends to go along with your sardonic remarks so I’m getting the feeling you might not be.”

David turned quickly to look at Patrick and Patrick met his eyes, watching as David considered the comment. He hadn’t known David for long at all, and yet he felt like he knew so much about him. Not about his past or his interests or his family, no, but other things that felt even more intimate. Like the way his mouth pulled to one side when he couldn’t hide his contentment, or the way his hands fiddled with the ends of his sleeves when he was anxious. Or the way he watched Patrick when he thought he wasn’t looking.

The silence hung between them, David suppressing a smile while Patrick stared back as if daring him to be the first to look away. The moment felt so vulnerable that it made Patrick’s pulse race, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more alive.

David finally broke the gaze, clapping his hands on his thighs as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’m serious. To be that deliriously happy?” He gestured toward the young couple, getting back to the topic that Patrick had completely forgotten about. “That’s not love. Infatuation maybe, or lust. Sure, they’re passionate, but I’m passionate about pizza, that doesn’t mean I’m in- well, bad example.”

Patrick furrowed his brow. “But the couple on the train…”

“Their passion manifested in a much more real way,” David said matter-of-factly. “Only people in love would waste their time and energy fighting the way they were fighting.”

“That might be the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard.”

David winced as he nodded. “Yeah, I heard it as I was saying it and admittedly not the most uplifting sentiment.”

“Okay, so disregarding the interesting examples of _passion_ we’ve seen today, let me rephrase the question: have you ever been in love, period?”

“No.”

“Did I mention that the rule in this game is that you have to be honest? Silly me,” Patrick quipped. “I don’t know why I assumed that rule was _implied_ , but-“

“Why is that so hard to believe? I’m a young guy, maybe I’m just super innocent and inexperienced.”

“Now your face is doing that thing it does when you’re lying,” Patrick observed, pointing a finger at David.

David’s eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, Person I Literally Just Met, I didn’t realize you knew so much about my face.”

“Your face has done a lot in the past couple hours and I’m a quick learner.”

David rolled his eyes. “Okay maybe some of it was a lie, but I haven’t been in love. I’ve been with a lot of people, and I thought I loved most of them, but it turns out anytime someone who isn’t obligated to talk to me actually  _chooses_ to talk to me for more than 30 seconds I basically fall in love with them.”

“Ok, I stand corrected, _that’s_ the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Doesn’t exactly scream mental health and stability, does it?”

Patrick let out a soft chuckle, but there was a heaviness in his chest that he couldn’t shake. David did self-deprecating humor well and often, and Patrick couldn’t help but wonder what was behind the defense mechanism.

“So when you say you’ve been with a lot of people-”

“Mm, I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were doing a one-for-one thing.”

“Another implied rule. Real original question coming at ya: Have _you_ ever been in love?”

“Yeah. I think so. My turn,” Patrick said quickly, his sentences stringing together. “How-”

“Um, no! ‘Yeah, I think so,’ does not answer the question!” David exclaimed, doing his best Patrick impression.

Patrick scoffed. “It definitely does.”

“Okay yes, _technically_ it does, but I didn’t know we were allowed to give such brief and guarded answers.”

“We really should’ve been better about establishing the rules.”

“I literally told you that I fall in love with everyone who speaks to me – the most pathetic thing I can think of to admit to a cute stranger. Whatever you have to say could not possibly be sadder than that.”

Patrick made a mental note to appreciate the cute comment later, because right now he was too concerned over the fact that the last thing he wanted to admit to David was the true reason for his trip and just how recently he had been ‘in love,’ if that’s what it was.

“There’s not much to tell. I had this girlfriend, we got together in high school and dated for a few years.” He shrugged it off like it was no big deal and hesitated, thinking over his next move but knowing he had to be honest with David. No, not that he _had_ to be honest with him, because after tonight he'd probably never see the guy again, but he knew that he didn't want to lie to him, for whatever reason.

“She’s actually the friend studying abroad that I came to see,” he admitted.

“Ah.” David’s eyebrows jutted toward his hairline, and Patrick didn’t think he was imagining the disappointment on his face.

“We broke up. At the beginning of my trip. And I think deep down we both knew it was over long before that.”

“But you did love her,” David replied, less of a question and more of a statement. “Or do love her.”

Patrick shrugged again. “Yeah. I mean, she’s- yeah.”

David pressed his lips together and hummed a sarcastic acknowledgment. “Good thing you don’t have to convince a jury.”

“I love her in that high school sweetheart way I guess, you know?”

“I absolutely do not. In high school, I ate lunch in the bathroom, so…”

“I guess I'm just trying to say... she’s a good person and I care about her. Beyond that, I don’t know. Things just never felt right with her. And I can’t explain it, because I can’t even make sense of it. I just...” he trailed off, waiting for himself to arrive at some revelatory conclusion that he could never seem to reach. “Being with her was easy, I guess. We’d known each other since we were kids, so it was just what people expected to happen. And when we got together it was kind of the same as not being together, you know? Nothing really changed. So I just convinced myself that even if I didn’t necessarily _want_ to be with her, it wasn’t worth it to break up with her because it wasn’t like it was having this huge, terrible impact on my life. And then as time went on, the longer we’d been together the more difficult it got to end things, so for a long time, I just didn’t. Then she told me she was going to study abroad and I thought, great, either I’ll realize that I can’t live without her and really do want to be with her, or we’ll just naturally grow apart. So she left in January and was supposed to stay for a year, but after a semester she started talking about coming back home early so that we could move in together and I just knew if I took one more step further into it then I would literally never get out. So as soon as my finals were done I flew to Madrid and broke up with her and then wandered around Europe for three months because I didn’t want to go home.”

“Okay,” David replied gently as he gave Patrick’s forearm a light squeeze. Patrick had been expecting him to lighten the mood with a cynical joke, and the fact that he’d opted not to made Patrick feel nervous and comforted all at once; it made him feel _heard_ , and that was a terrifying yet wonderful notion.

Patrick sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I was not planning on saying all that and I know it makes me sound like a really shitty person.”

David shook his head. “Trust me, I am the last person who’s going to judge your morals.”

Patrick nodded his thanks and blinked back the tears that were burning his eyes. He’d never talked to anyone about those things – not his parents, not his friends, certainly not Rachel. Hearing himself say all that really did make him feel awful, but getting it all out there also made him feel like a weight had been lifted.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. My turn.” Patrick paused, thinking of his next question for David. “What’s the biggest problem in your life right now?”

David sighed. “You.”

“What?”

“You and your deep questions,” David teased, but Patrick got the feeling that he’d meant something else entirely. “My parents didn’t pay for my fancy French therapy for ten years just for a twelve-year-old redneck to swoop in and listen to all my problems for free.”

“I very much resent that description of me.”

“Come on, let’s go.” David grabbed Patrick’s hand and pulled him off the tram, holding on for a few seconds longer than necessary and giving it a squeeze before letting go, leading the way down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, and come hang with me on tumblr at [ paceyjay ](%E2%80%9Dpaceyjay.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)!


	3. The Record Store

“Tell me about the best moment of your life.”

Patrick’s hands were buried deep in his pockets as they wandered down the street, glancing at the storefronts as they passed, the afternoon sun warm and comforting on the back of his neck.

David squinted his eyes in thought. “Isn’t it my turn?”

“No, you dodged my last question by dragging me off the tram.”

“That’s because all your questions are really hard!” he whined, stomping his foot for good measure.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Patrick mocked. “Come on, you can’t think of the best moment of your life? Like, happiest you’ve ever been?”

“No! My life is one long string of mediocre moments with significantly terrible ones thrown in every now and then to spice things up a bit.”

“Come on, what was the first thing that popped into your head when I asked?”

“Um, the first thing that popped into my head was, ‘oh God, I’m going to have to admit to this guy just how little joy I have in my life.’”

Patrick grimaced. “Touché,” he retorted, grinding his teeth as he contemplated how far he should push. “What was the worst moment, then?”

David glanced over at him, surprised, then quickly looked away. “Wow. Okay then.”

Gauging David’s response, Patrick regretted the question immediately. The truth of the matter was that he shouldn’t feel comfortable asking such invasive questions of a total stranger, but with David he did, and he had no idea why.

“Sorry, that was out of line, it’s none of my business.”

“No, hey, I guess I kind of walked right into that one, huh? Let’s see…” David paused as he pondered, pursing his lips. “There was the time when our family was on vacation in Hong Kong and my twelve-year-old sister went missing for a full 48 hours. _Super_ fun time.”

“Damn,” Patrick breathed. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected David to say, but he was caught off guard by the admission. “Your parents must’ve freaked.”

“Actually, they still don’t know about it to this day.”

Patrick furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the statement. “I’m sorry, they didn’t know that your sister was missing for two whole days?”

“See, we always brought a nanny with us, so we were in a suite with the nanny and then my parents had their own suite and we really didn’t see each other, like, the entire time. I, being the incredibly stupid and emotional mess of a teenager that I was, told the nanny to fuck off and bought her her own room with my mom’s credit card. At some point I went out, left Alexis in the room, and when I got back she was gone.”

David stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Patrick, but Patrick could still see the guilt in his eyes. He tried to wrap his mind around the paradox that was David’s life: ridiculously wealthy but chronically unhappy, handed everything by his parents but raised by the help, confident yet insecure, bold yet guarded.

“You must’ve been terrified.”

“I went and told our nanny,” David continued, not acknowledging Patrick’s statement. “Of course, she wouldn’t let me tell my parents because then she’d have to also tell them why she was sitting on her ass charging hundreds of dollars of room service to their credit card and watching Chinese soaps instead of watching us. So it was just the two of us looking for her in a city of six million. I think I still remember how to say ‘have you seen this girl’ in Cantonese.”

Patrick forced a small smile at the dark attempt at humor. “But you found her? She was okay?”

“Yeah, turns out she’d made some friends and went out with them, and then when it came time to go back she had no idea where our hotel was or what it was called, so she just stayed with them for a couple days until they figured it out.”

“And these friends, they were also twelve?” Patrick questioned, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Ish…” David replied hesitantly, his lower lip pulling down to bare his bottom teeth. “Yeah, twelve-ish…”

“Twelve-ish, like, thirteen, maybe?”

“Yeah, thirteen, nineteen, you know, somewhere in there.”

“Jesus.”

David waved his hand quickly, dismissing Patrick’s heavy thoughts. “But it wasn’t like that, she was… She was fine. I mean, she did come back with a hideous tramp stamp that wasn’t there before, but other than that…”

Patrick gawked at him, not sure what to say.

“Did great things for my already crippling anxiety though, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sorry, David.”

David shrugged and shook his head like it was no big deal, but Patrick could see that it pained him.

“You say your parents paid for all that therapy, but really, who’s doing a better job, me or your shrink?” he quipped, sensing that David was longing for some levity.

“I’ll have you know that Madeleine and I have had some major emotional breakthroughs regarding my debilitating fear of butterflies.”

Patrick laughed genuinely at this, his shoulders shaking as he held his stomach.

David swatted at his bicep. “Lepidopterophobia! It’s a real thing!”

“I’m sure it is.” Patrick took a deep breath as he tried to suppress his sniggering, placing a hand on David’s shoulder. “Your fears are very valid.”

“ _Anyways_ , my traumatic existence aside, I still standby the fact that you’d have a hard time finding anyone who could rattle off a cute little story about the best moment of their life at the drop of a hat.”

Patrick shrugged and stood up straighter, looking smug. “I can.”

“ _Of course_ you can,” David retorted, rolling his eyes.

Patrick shrugged again, a wide grin taking over his face.

“Well?” David prompted, eyes wide in anticipation.

“Well what? This was my question!”

 “New rule is that if one person literally cannot answer a question, the asker has to answer it.”

“I do not sign off on that rule because it’s bullshit, but I’ll humor you just this once.”

“You’re too kind.”

Patrick's lips turned up into a small smile as he clapped his hands in front of him, rubbing them together as he prepared to tell the story.

“The best moment of my life was my freshman year of high school; I got moved up to the varsity baseball team. And it was cool but honestly, it didn’t really matter to me what level I was playing at, you know, JV, varsity, whatever, I was just happy to play. But varsity was the only team that got to play night games. And there’s nothing like playing under the lights. They just…” Patrick closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a chill run down his spine as he tried to put the sensation into words. “They take you to a whole other world, it’s insanely surreal. So my first night game, I’d struck out twice, grounded out once, but I didn’t even care. I was having the time of my life. And then it’s bottom of the ninth, and I was sure they were going to pinch hit for me but for some reason they didn’t. And I walked up to the plate and I just felt so calm, like no pressure at all, just so peaceful and happy. First pitch is low and outside but I reach down and connect, and it’s gone. Walk-off home run. And as I was rounding the bases I just remember feeling so overwhelmed in the best way possible. And it’s like I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.”

Patrick blinked and snapped out of the trance he hadn’t realized he’d been in. He looked over at David who was watching him with sparkling eyes.

“The best moment of my life is me imagining someone talking about me the way that you talk about baseball.”

Patrick beamed at the comment, knowing his passion for the sport made him seem slightly insane to most people but not caring in the least.

“Imagine loving a sport _that_ much,” David continued sardonically.

“Oh, I don’t have to imagine, David.”

“A sport in which you basically just roll around in the dirt.”

“Greatest game ever played.”

“Now there’s something that’s been said about me.”

“What do you mean?”

David frowned, clearly annoyed that Patrick had ruined their fun banter. “Nothing, it was a joke.”

“Except it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was,” David insisted, wrapping his arms around himself.

Patrick held his hands up in surrender. “Okay.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?!”

“Say ‘okay’ but look all mopey.”

“I’m not!”

“ _Sure_. Gosh, all this emotional manipulation has me exhausted.”

Patrick stopped dead in his tracks, his heart dropping into his stomach. It took a moment for David to realize Patrick was no longer beside him, turning to look back at him questioningly when he noticed. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Patrick stuttered, the color draining from his face.

“I was kidding.” David turned and took a step forward to continue on, but Patrick reached out and wrapped his fingers around his forearm.

 “No, I shouldn’t have asked you about the worst moment of your life, that was a total dick move, and I just- you make a lot of jokes that allude to some possibly shitty things happening to you and I was just, like, concerned, I guess, but that was stupid, I’m not your therapist-“

“Patrick.” David grabbed him by the shoulders, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into Patrick’s faded blue t-shirt. “Relax. Honestly, I was messing with you. I do not feel emotionally manipulated. I actually…” He trailed off, looking down at his feet before continuing. “It’s nice that you care. I’m just not used to someone caring, so I don’t know how to respond, I guess. But I do appreciate it. So let’s make a deal that you will continue to ask me anything you want, and just ignore whatever stupid visceral response I have because I evidently struggle with genuine human emotion. Okay?”

Patrick looked up at him, biting his lip and offering a gentle smile. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They started down the street again and Patrick tried to focus on the sounds of their shoes hitting the pavement as his mind raced. He had always been the guy who blended in – never making big speeches or grand gestures, never pushing people, never being too forward or opinionated, never doing anything too risky or bold – just the harmless guy next door who was always good for carrying on a friendly conversation. Now suddenly he was the guy who begged strangers to hang out with him, the guy who asked deeply personal questions, the guy who brushed up against someone’s arm just to feel something. This was all so new and yet it didn’t feel foreign to him at all; it felt completely right.

“Now you’re being disturbingly quiet which is freaking me out,” David spoke up, pulling Patrick out of his thoughts.

He looked over to find David watching him, a worried smile playing at his lips. “Sorry. I was just thinking that since you want me to continue to pry into your personal life, I should probably ask you again what you meant when you said-”

“You are literally exploiting my emotions, and it is not okay.”

Patrick grinned. “Hey, let’s go in here,” he suggested suddenly, steering them into the record store that he’d spotted.

It was a large space, shelves of records going every which way. Patrick turned left when they entered and led the way slowly through the store, admiring its character. It appeared to be making an attempt at catering to a younger generation with a large colorful display near the register screaming _NEW RELEASES_ in block letters, but the rest of the shop had a warm, cozy atmosphere, the sun streaming in through the tall windows and casting a golden glow on the dark woods that made up the room.

“People don’t tend to like me,” David said out of nowhere, and Patrick whirled around to meet his eyes. “They like to party with me, or get high with me, or sleep with me, or use me in whatever way they need, but- they never think much of me other than that. And I guess it’s just easier to joke about it than to actually feel it.”

Patrick nodded as he looked into David’s eyes, thanking him for his honesty. He was torn between feeling thrilled that David had willingly opened up and confided in him and feeling gutted that David had been treated that way by so many people. He was overcome by the urge to physically comfort him somehow, by hugging him or taking his hand or rubbing his back, but he resisted, shoving his hands into his pockets instead.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think a lot of you.”

“Ew, stop. I did not tell you that to get pity compliments.”

“It’s not pity! I just happen to think you’re great.”

“Well that’s very sweet,” David said through gritted teeth, looking repulsed.

“The best, even,” Patrick continued with a lighthearted smile.

“Okay.” David turned away, playfully annoyed, and Patrick smirked.

They continued to mosey through the rows of records, Patrick browsing and making the occasional comment about an album while David eyed the dust on the shelves.

“In the spirit of being honest, I do feel the need to warn you that if you _honestly_ tell me you love country music, I will suddenly come down with an incapacitating illness and be on the next train out of here.”

“Funny you should mention that, I was actually thinking of it as a career path.”

David lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes at Patrick. “You think you’re funny but you’re not.”

“Like you said, business isn’t the most exciting thing to go into. Country music star, on the other hand…”

David choked, pulling at the neck of his shirt. “Is it just me or is there a lack of oxygen in here?”

“Would you say I’m more Merle Haggard or Hank Williams?

“I don’t know what that means.”

Patrick snickered, sliding his hand over the rows of vinyls as the moved through the store.

“Hey, look, they have a listening booth,” he pointed, spotting the small room in the back corner.

“A what?”

“A little booth you can go in and listen to a record.”

David cocked his head, tugging at his earlobe as he studied Patrick. “When were you born, 1952?”

“I have an idea. You pick a song for me, and I’ll pick a song for you, and we’ll go in there and listen to them both.”

“A song for you? What does that even me?” David blinked rapidly, placing one hand on his hip and waving the other around in exasperation. “A song I think you would like, a song that reminds me of you? Your games consistently have very poor structure.”

Patrick merely shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” David sighed, throwing his hands up and walking in the opposite directions to scour the other side of the store.

Patrick watched him from across the room. David chewed his lip as he sauntered through the aisles, flicking through the albums with his fingertips. After a few moments, he glanced over and Patrick looked away quickly, but not before meeting his gaze. His cheeks were sore from the grin that had been plastered on his face for who knows how long and he could feel his ears begin to burn, but in his peripherals he caught a glimpse of David’s shy smile and it made a warmth spread throughout his body, his fingers tingling as he began to scan the shelves himself.

He perused mindlessly through a few sections, not sure what he was looking for, figuring he would know it when he saw it, but that didn’t prove to come as easily as he’d hoped. He was about to give up and admit, much to David’s dismay, that it had been a stupid idea when it hit him. He trekked swiftly through the aisles on a mission, knowing exactly what he was looking for and throwing his fist in the air when he found it.

He weaved through the shelves with the record behind his back as he tracked David down, finding him glowering at a tower of tacky key chains.

“Got yours?” Patrick asked gleefully.

“I do. That was _so_ much fun.”

“Nah, this is the fun part. Come on.”

 

*****

 

They stood side by side in the small booth, Patrick’s wrist brushing against David’s clenched fist, both staring straight ahead as they listened to the opening notes of the song Patrick had chosen.

_I call you when I need you, my heart's on fire_   
_You come to me, come to me wild and wired_   
_Oh, you come to me, give me everything I need_   
_Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams_   
_Speak the language of love like you know what it means_   
_Mm, and it can't be wrong_   
_Take my heart and make it strong, babe_   
_You're simply the best, better than all the rest_

“It’s like I said, I think you’re the best.”  

“Oh my god,” David groaned in disbelief.

“I’m serious. Tina Turner thinks so too.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferable?”

“I take it as a compliment.”

David scrubbed his face with his hands before crossing his arms over his chest. He turned his head away, but Patrick could see that his lips were pulled to one side, his mouth twisted into a smile.

Patrick’s expression softened. “David, those people who used you have no idea how big of a mistake they made.”

At that, David’s head snapped to look at Patrick, holding his gaze for a moment before transferring his stare to the ceiling, jaw clenched and fingers digging into his own crossed arms. Patrick continued to watch as David’s eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill over, and he could see that David didn’t know how to respond to that – _couldn’t_ respond to it – but that was okay; he didn’t need David to say anything, he’d just needed him to know that he was worth more than the people in his past had made him believe.

_In your heart I see the start of every night and every day_   
_In your eyes I get lost, I get washed away_   
_Just as long I’m here in your arms I could be in no better place_   
_You're simply the best, better than all the rest_   
_Better than anyone, anyone I ever met_

David’s lips parted slightly and he turned his body toward Patrick, his eyes looking down at him, eager but hesitant. Patrick’s gaze fell to David’s mouth, giving him permission lean in closer, their lips meeting gently. David’s hand cradled Patrick’s face and Patrick was suddenly hyperaware of every touch – David’s lips on his, David’s thumb caressing his cheek, his own fingertips brushing against David’s waist.

After a few seconds, David pulled away, smiling at the ground as he cleared his throat. “Okay. My turn.”

Patrick could feel a flush creeping up his face as he waited for David to change the record. He scrambled to try and liken this feeling to one he’d had before, but it wasn’t comparable to anything he’d experienced in his life. In the second grade, Molly Milton had kissed him at the top of the slide; he’d giggled nervously and forgot about it by the end of recess. When he was fifteen, he’d kissed Rachel for the first time; when he pulled away she was smiling and he smiled back at her, and he had assumed that that was all it was and all it would ever be. Until now.

“Okay, I’m not going to pretend I know how to do this,” David said as he handed Patrick his record. “It’s number six.”

Patrick chuckled, his head still spinning. He took the record from David and placed it on the platter, finding the groove for the sixth song and dropping the needle there with a shaky hand. As the music started he moved back to his place next to David, his heart still beating a million miles per minute.

_Here I am, where I've been_   
_I've walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin_   
_And my clothes are worn & gritty_   
_And I know ugliness_   
_Now show me something pretty_   
_I was a dumb punk kid with nothing to lose_   
_And too much weight for walking shoes_   
_I could have died from being boring_   
_As for loneliness, she greets me every morning_   
_At the most I'm a glare_   
_I'm the hopeless son who's hardly there_   
_I'm the open sign that's always busted_   
_I'm the friend you need, but can't be trusted_

“It’s nice. Why’d you choose it?”

David cleared his throat. “It’s by a guy named Patrick,” he said timidly as he examined his cuticles.

“Seriously?” Patrick sputtered, his eyebrows approaching his hairline. “That’s all the thought you put into this?”

“You were the one who was unclear about the rules!”

“Wow.”

“I liked it better when _you_ felt bad and _I_ had the upper hand.”

“Yeah, that time is _definitely_ over.” Patrick’s mouth set in a hard line as he shook his head, giving David one last affected look of disappointment before slipping out of the booth.

 “At least I was honest!” David said to his back as they made their way to the front of the store, and for some reason, Patrick still couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and an extra big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment! I appreciate you so much! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and come hang with me on tumblr at [ paceyjay ](%E2%80%9Dpaceyjay.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)!


	4. The Museum

A guy. Patrick had kissed a guy. _David_. David had kissed him. And Patrick liked it. No, ‘liked’ didn’t even begin to describe it. It was like he’d been holding his breath for so long that his lungs had begun to burn and his head had started to swim, and then suddenly he’d been given this huge breath of fresh air. Except he hadn’t realized just how suffocated he’d been, just how much he was struggling to breathe, until he wasn’t anymore.

The only flaw Patrick could find in that analogy was that breathing was something everyone took for granted eventually, and he couldn’t imagine ever becoming complacent about the feeling he got from kissing David.

It was a lot; so much more than he’d ever thought would come from his self-indulgent summer excursion. There was a heavy sense of ‘ _who the hell am I_?’, but it was somewhat pacified by an equally overwhelming sense of ‘ _this is exactly who I’m supposed to be_ ,’ and he felt an immense amount of gratitude toward David for facilitating that moment of revelation that Patrick was beginning to think he’d never get.

“Hey, David?”

It was the first thing either of them said since they left the record store. They’d been wandering down the street for several silent minutes, slowly and aimlessly, and completely euphoric. Every so often Patrick would glance at David and David would purse his lips, trying and failing to mask his own elation.

David quirked a brow now in response and Patrick halted, taking David’s face gently between his hands and kissing him. It was different from the first kiss, maybe because he’d caught David off guard, but it was a _good_ kind of different, and Patrick wondered if that’s what it would be like each time they kissed – unexpected and new but just familiar enough. How long would it take for him to know all the different ways David kissed? Soft and deep, desperate and needy, gentle and loving; he wanted to experience them all again and again.

He felt mildly insane that he was having these longing thoughts after knowing David for such a short amount of time and sharing two brief, tame kisses that would barely rival what most middle schoolers were doing under the bleachers at a football game, but he had an aching feeling that this ridiculous hunger was what people typically felt when they first met someone they really connected with, and Patrick had just never had that before.

“Thank you,” he said as they pulled apart, eyes piercing into David earnestly.

David cleared his throat, and Patrick was relieved to see that he looked just as fervent. “For what?”

“For, uh, for kissing me. Being the one to do that. Because I was afraid that I might let our whole time together go by without doing it. And that would’ve really sucked.”

“Well, fortunately, I’m a very generous person.”

They started walking again and Patrick buried his hands deep in his pockets. He stared down at his shuffling feet and sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth.

“It’s just I’ve never done that before. With a guy. Never even really thought about it.”

David paused, mouth slightly agape like he was processing the information. “Oh,” he replied, his voice timid.

“Until today,” Patrick said hurriedly, attempting to clarify. Because of course he had wanted that kiss. Of course he was feeling something for a guy _now_. He wanted that to be very, very clear. “So. Thank you.”

The smile returned to David’s face, but this time it seemed uneasy – less cloud nine, more apprehensive.  “Well, I’m happy to be your gateway gay.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, unsure how to take the comment, but he shrugged it off and convinced himself he was misreading David’s slightly pained expression.

“Damn, check that out,” Patrick remarked, forgetting any lingering concerns when he caught sight of the building before them. It was remarkably odd and eccentric with black and white mosaics dancing across the face of the structure. “Vienna’s got it going on in the architecture department.”

“Hundertwasser.” David’s voice was monotone, clearly unfazed by the sight.

“Sorry?”

“He’s an artist, it’s his museum.”

“You’ve been there?”

“No, but I did study art a teensy bit and I swear in every single class I took there was at least one pretentious dick who couldn’t stop gushing about the guy.”

“You studied art?” Patrick was surprised, but he couldn’t put his finger on why; honestly, it may have been that studying art was so _unsurprising_ for a rich socialite, and he’d begun to expect the unexpected from David.

“If you could call it that. I mostly wrote very crude papers on how all artists were either homosexual or homophobic and how their pieces were just various different interpretations of sex. I think it made my professors too afraid to fail me.”

“You studied art.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

Patrick shrugged. “Just find it interesting. Want to check it out?”

David looked appalled as he planted his hands on his hips, glancing back and forth between Patrick and the museum. “Let me be clear: the people who were always talking about Hundertwasser were the kinds of people who wore tweed blazers to class every day and always had a pack of cigarettes in their hands despite never ever being seen smoking one.”

“Sounds like they’ve got style,” Patrick deadpanned.

“One of them consistently wore jean shorts and hiking boots _with_ the tweed blazer.”

“I’m wearing hiking boots.”

David looked Patrick up and down, his lips twisted into a sneer. “Oh trust me, I’ve noticed.”

 

*****

 

“Gosh, look at this place, it’s amazing. There’s so much character. I’d love to live in a place like this.”

“Oh god, imagine?” David choked, looking repulsed by the idea.

Patrick ignored him, surveying his surroundings in awe: undulating floors, vibrant walls, different motifs and textures every which way. The only other time he could recall visiting a museum was on a seventh-grade field trip, and he distinctly remembered thinking it had the same vibe as a funeral home.

“Check out the ceiling,” he commented before catching a glimpse of David who was eyeing him with mild amusement.  “What?”

“Your enthusiasm for architecture is kind of adorable.”

“Excuse me for finding beauty in the world,” Patrick gibed. “Besides, as we’ve established, I’ve lived a sheltered life. Especially compared to yours.”

“No judgment.”

Patrick shot him a disbelieving glare.

“Barely,” David amended. “Barely any judgment from me on how inspiring you find these ceilings.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He circled slowly around David as he continued to admire their environment.  “But doesn’t it just feel warm and homey in here?”

“I was going to say tacky and loud and messy and bright and a bit nauseating. But sure, warm and homey, yeah, let’s go with that.”

Patrick clapped his hand on David’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Come on. Even if you hate it, you have to admit it’s at the very least completely different from anything you’ve seen before.”

“It actually reminds me of this Mexican restaurant slash gift shop slash possible sex trafficking front that I was in once in Stockholm. But I will admit that this place is a little less dodgy.”

“Wow, high praise.”

“I’d even go so far as to say it has a… certain… charm.” The words left David’s mouth slowly as if they physically pained him to say.

“Well, look who’s a fan! Do you think they sell the tweed blazers here?”

“I don’t like you,” David murmured, jutting out his chin as he stalked into the next room.

“You could have your very own!”

 

*****

 

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

Patrick quirked a brow, gesturing toward the piece of art that they were standing in front of. “Um. The painting that we’ve been looking at for the past two minutes…”

David shrugged, still staring at it apathetically. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I’m not the expert here.”

“First of all, my education may have cost a small fortune, but I still would never classify myself as an _expert_ ; and second, pretty sure the beauty of art is that it’s subjective and you don’t have to be an expert to have an opinion. As a matter of fact, I’d say having an expert opinion on it makes you a douchebag.”

“A tweed jacket wearing, cigarette holding douchebag?”

David closed his eyes and nodded proudly. “Now you’re getting it.”

Patrick flashed him a smirk and then considered the painting again, chewing at his lip. “I don’t know, there’s this pressure that art is supposed to make you feel something, right? And with other kinds of art, like music, sure, I completely subscribe to that notion. But for me, visual art doesn’t really stir up any emotions. It more just reminds me of things, I guess. So, like this one, do you know the show _Under the Umbrella Tree_?”

David furrowed his brow, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Was that the soap about the group of Amazonian women who raised their children in an underground, ant colony-type community?”

“Nope, no, this would be a children’s show.”

“Ah, then no. I really didn’t watch much TV as a child. Other than telenovelas because my mom always said they were true displays of acting talent that everyone should aspire to.”

Patrick squinted, as intrigued as ever by David’s colorful anecdotes. “Okay. This show had puppets, so a little different from that.”

David gave a facetious shake of the head. “Mm, not as different as you’d think.”

“Well it was a show I watched when I was a kid, and this painting makes me think of it.” He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips as more and more of the recollection surfaced in his mind. “I have this very vivid memory from when I would spend the night at my grandma’s house. I would wake up in the morning, pretty early – you remember before you were old enough to go to school when you didn’t have that overwhelming desire to sleep in yet? – and I would lay in bed for a little while, staring at all the weird angel figurines and the pictures of me and my cousins in mismatched frames sitting on crocheted doilies. And eventually, I’d walk into the living room where my grandma would already have the TV on waiting for me, always playing _Under the Umbrella Tree_. I’d sit in her burgundy recliner and watch it while she was in the kitchen making me peanut butter toast, and she’d bring it to me and let me eat in the living room which my parents never allowed.”

David watched him adoringly and Patrick huffed out a laugh, realizing how sickeningly quaint it all sounded.

“Which I guess totally negates the whole point I was trying to make,” Patrick continued, “because reminiscing about those memories obviously did bring about emotions.”

“I would say so. The nostalgia was _palpable_ ,” David teased. “But one of us still serves as an example of your original sentiment.”

“This doesn’t make you feel anything?”

David’s lips set into a pout as he rested his chin on his fist and looked absently at the painting. “It makes me think about what type of aesthetic it would fit with in a gallery, and like, what type of show theme I would go for, what other pieces would complement it. Like, maybe I would have a nude model holding the painting to make it more interesting.”

“Wow. That’s deep.”

“Yeah, got choked up just talking about it.”

“Stay strong.” Patrick reached out and squeezed David’s arm before wandering over to the next painting. “What about this one? Jog any profound feelings or childhood memories?”

David steepled his fingers and lifted his chin pensively. “There was this one time when my aunt came to visit and I walked in on her watching porn. I then went back and watched it by myself the next day. I was very far into it before I realized that it was actually a _homemade_ tape of my aunt and two of her very beefy friends. I haven’t been able to look her in the eye in over a decade.”

“That’s what this makes you think of?” Patrick questioned, eying the painting that appeared to depict a large ship.

“Well, no, but you had your cute story about watching TV at Granny’s, so I felt like I needed to share a comparable memory.”

“Yeah, no, that’s almost exactly the same.”

Patrick chuckled to himself as he walked away, slowly scanning the paintings that lined the walls of the room. When his gaze fell to one in particular, he came to an abrupt halt.

At the top of the painting was a train at dusk traveling through a sparse landscape of purples and blues, the buildings almost blending in with the night sky, while the foreground showed a city street, its bright hues refusing to be overtaken by the darkness of the evening.

Patrick wasn’t superstitious, he wasn’t religious, he didn’t believe in fate. But he couldn’t help but feel like the stars had aligned just right to make all of this happen. That morning he’d been on a train, alone, feeling uncertain of everything in his life; and now, here he was, staring blissfully at a painting that seemed to exist just for him, with a person who had brightened his world.

“David,” he called gently, eyes fixed on the canvas while he listened to the sounds of the other man’s footsteps making their way toward him. “How about this one?”

“Yeah,” David said, letting out a deep breath, and without even looking Patrick could sense the crooked smile that was fighting to take over David’s face. “This one’s not bad. Trains are definitely a preferred method of transport for me I’d say.”

Patrick slid his hand into David’s, lacing their fingers together. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Think this is my favorite.”

 

*****

 

They found a somewhat secluded table in the museum’s café; indoors rather than on the patio like Patrick had campaigned for because, as David had so kindly pointed out, Patrick’s _‘pallid, pasty, almost ghost-like skin’_ had probably had enough sun exposure for one day, and while Patrick refused to outright confirm David’s highly complimentary, well-worded suggestion, he knew he was probably right.

“Thanks for coming here with me,” Patrick said as they took their seats. “My friends aren’t really art people, so it’s not often that I get to branch out like this, I guess. Not that I’m really an art person either necessarily but, you know, I like to be open to new experiences.”

“Yes, well, we’ve certainly seen that.” David waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I imagine your friend group is made up strictly of hetero dude-bros?”

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”

“And all you do in your spare time with them is watch sports and drink beer?”

“Hey, now,” Patrick said defensively. “Occasionally we… play cards. We’ve got a dorm poker league. And my friend Sam runs a fantasy league for like, every sport imaginable so we get together for those weekly. Sometimes we play sports. Sometimes we coach sports; Sam and I coach a little league team together.”

“Oh, my deepest apologies. So let me get this straight; in addition to my demeaning and stereotyped assumptions that you only watch sports and drink beer, you also play sports, talk about sports, teach sports, and drink more beer? Have I got that- is that right? We good?”

Patrick gave an exaggerated nod. “Yes, thank you, _now_ I feel seen.”

“That’s a lot of sports.”

“Please don’t think less of me, I beg you.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” David replied, scratching at the stubble under his chin. “So, Sam, huh?”

Patrick furrowed his brow, thrown off by the turn of the conversation. “What?”

“Is this Sam your best friend?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

David shifted in his seat, looking down at his hands and twisting the ring on his right index finger. “What’s he like?”

Patrick sat up straighter, David’s tone making him feel like he should be preparing for an argument, but he had no idea why or where this was going. “Do you want me to hook you up with him?”

“No,” David replied calmly, not even batting an eyelash at the ridiculous question. “I guess I’m wondering if _you_ want to hook up with him.”

“He’s straight.”

“And up until a couple hours ago so were you, apparently.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at that, brows furrowing as he tried to figure out David’s angle. David had been nothing but kind and supportive and understanding thus far, so he didn’t know where the biting comment had come from.

“I may not be an expert on all this, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Sorry, I know,” David recanted, but his voice remained sharp. “I just mean it’s surprising that you’ve never had any sort of feelings for a guy before. It would make sense for you to have repressed feelings for your best friend.”

“But I _don’t_ have feelings for him, repressed or otherwise.”

David tilted his head to the side. “Well, if they were repressed then you wouldn’t know-“

Patrick cut him off, refusing to play games. “David, what is this about?”

“Nothing, oh my god, forget I brought it up.” He tugged at the bottom of his shirt and slouched in his chair, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. “So, _as your best friend and nothing more_ , what do you think Sam would think of me? And... this?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick spat, still baffled by the topic, but then a softness came over him as he began to piece things together.

 _'Well, I’m happy to be your gateway gay,_ ’ David had said earlier with a smile that was struggling to be sincere. Patrick closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as the realization hit him: David wasn’t worried that Patrick was interested in Sam; David was _hoping_ for it. That would mean that this was real rather than an experimental act of rebellion by a confused, newly single college kid just checking off the boxes on his list of things to try while abroad.   

It was something that Patrick had to keep reminding himself: David needed a lot of reassurance. Rachel was the only serious relationship Patrick had been in, and that had required very little effort; an _‘I love you’_ every now and then was, for the most part, all she’d needed, and if she ever needed more she wasn’t afraid to tell Patrick directly. David, on the other hand, seemed to quietly torture himself over things or, worse yet, just assume that people didn’t care about him. He assumed everyone thought the worst of him, and therefore he went on thinking the worst of everyone in return. Maybe that had caused other people to run away, but it made Patrick all the more motivated to prove to David that it didn’t have to be that way.

Eyes fixed on the table, Patrick smiled to himself as he was struck by an idea. “You know what? Let’s find out what Sam thinks. Ring, ring. Ring, ring.”

David gawked at him, staring in befuddlement at Patrick’s hand that he was cradling to his cheek like a phone, thumb to his ear and pinky extended. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Sam. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring.” Patrick covered his pinky finger with his other hand as he whispered to David, “Could you get that?”

“What the fuck is happening?” David muttered, shooting daggers at Patrick before finally begrudgingly bringing his own hand to his face. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sam, it’s Patrick. What’s up?”

David opened his mouth and gestured wildly, baffled by the scenario, but Patrick didn’t waver. “Just jerking off to my car magazine,” he said eventually, flipping Patrick off with his non-phone hand. “How’s Vienna?”

“Well, actually that’s why I’m calling. I met this guy on the train, and he was going to Paris but I asked him to get off in Vienna with me and he did.”

“He’d have to be a psychopath to agree to that. Then again, you’re the one calling me on your _hand_.”

Patrick nodded, ignoring the dig. “Oh, he’s absolutely a psychopath, but I find it charming.”

“Fine, well, if we’re going to do this then you might as well tell me how _amazing_ this guy is.”

“He is amazing,” Patrick agreed, his sincere tone causing David’s evident annoyance to diminish. “But I think I might’ve freaked him out because after he kissed me, I told him that I’d never kissed a guy before.”

The way David’s mouth tightened told Patrick that he was spot on, but David recovered quickly. “Wait, you’re gay, bro?”

“You know how I always say it feels like there’s something missing with me and Rachel? When this guy kissed me, everything felt right. I didn’t know what was missing before, but it’s there now, with him. _He_ makes me feel right.”

David clenched his jaw as he blinked back tears, his face flush.

“The problem is,” Patrick continued, “I don’t want him to think that I’m just using him as an experiment to see if I’m into guys. I don’t want him to think I’m like the other people he’s been with who used him and didn’t appreciate him.”

David wiped hastily at his eyes before broaching the subject. “But maybe you _are_ just trying out the whole gay thing with him because he served you up an opportunity when he kissed you. And who could blame you? You’re going to spend one night with this dude and never see him again, so why not take advantage of it?”

The fact that David thought he might be exploiting the situation, exploiting _him_ , made Patrick feel sick to his stomach. He reached out with his free hand to hold David’s across the table. “No, but see, it wasn’t even just the kiss that did it. Something clicked the moment I saw him. When he sat by me on the train, that’s when things started to make sense. And every second since then has felt more and more like what my life is supposed to be. And I’m not sure why it took this long for me to realize; maybe I was afraid to let myself believe I was into guys, or maybe I just never met the right one. Because trust me, I’ve never met anyone like him.”

“Well then,” David said, clearing his throat. “It sounds like this guy has some major issues that aren’t your fault, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much. And I wouldn’t stop being truthful with him, because he probably doesn’t have a whole lot of real, honest people in his life. And maybe just keep up the whole patience thing, um, because it’s a very admirable trait and I doubt you’ll survive the rest of the night with him if you lose that. He sounds very exhausting.”

“Oh, don’t worry; fortunately for both of us my patience seems to be unlimited when it comes to him.” Patrick smiled and David bit down on the inside of his cheek, staring off to the side with misty eyes. “And I’m not going to be anything but honest with him. Because I’m having the best day of my life, and I don’t want anything to get in the way of him having the best day of his life too.”

“I’d venture to guess that good days for him are marked by no one cheating on him or giving him downers instead of uppers or telling him his nose job was botched.”

“Then this should be an easy win.”

“Better kiss him again to really cement that whole best day status though.”

“Gladly,” Patrick slurred, unlinking their fingers to instead rest his hand on David’s thigh as he leaned into his welcoming lips.

David kissed him deeply, his appreciation conveyed without words. He pulled back slowly, locking eyes with Patrick and offering him a candid smile before asking, “Can I hang up now?”

“Sure, but now it’s your turn. Call your friend, tell them about me.”

“I’m not sure I have _friends_ in your sense of the word,” David said with a cringe before yawning, his leather jacket creaking as he stretched his arms over his head. “And I’m not going to make it through another round of this game without a pastry in front of me.”

“Call your sister. And then I promise we don’t have to say another word to each other until you’ve had _at least_ three pastries.”

David groaned. “Fine. Ring, ring.” Patrick sat there smugly, testing David’s patience, and David rolled his eyes. “ _Ring. Ring_.”

“Hello?”

“Can you water my plants for me? I’m not going to be home.”

“Oh, hey, Davey!” Patrick exclaimed, eliciting a death glare and a silent _‘fuck no’_ from David. “Why, where are you?”

“Vienna.”

“What are you doing in Vienna?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Alone?”

“No.”

David was trying to push his buttons, but Patrick could do this all day. “Cool!”

“Yep,” David challenged, but it didn’t take long for him to huff out his defeat. “I met this guy on the train.”

“Ooh, a guy. Is he hot stuff?”

David gagged. “Never say that again,” he snapped, and Patrick wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or his sister. “He’s… precious.”

“Precious,” Patrick repeated.

“Yeah, you know, total baby face, wearing cargo shorts, a jock but also kind of dorky.”

“Doesn’t sound like your type.”

David paused, and for a moment Patrick worried what was going through his head. “You’re right," he said finally. "He’s nice and respectful and I think he might actually care about me. Weird. And he’s done more for me today than anyone has ever done for me in my entire life. So yeah, I’d say _definitely_ not my type.”

He said the words nonchalantly, as usual, but Patrick didn’t miss both the pain and the gratitude behind them. He looked at David sympathetically and tried to erase every bad thing that had ever happened to him with a single glance.

David swiped his hand across the table, busying himself with brushing away debris that wasn’t there. “Anyway, he has stupid… hair.”

“Stupid hair?”

“Yeah. It’s short but kind of curly and he clearly puts no effort into styling it.”

“Uh huh,” Patrick droned, pulling the baseball cap out of his back pocket and placing it atop his head.

“Oh, and he has a hat! Would you look at that, didn’t know that was there. Cute, dirty, baseball hat,” David lamented as Patrick gave off a smug grin. “Which reminds me that he’s also very pale.”

“Mhm,” Patrick said as Alexis before breaking character to mouth _‘get new material.’_

“You’d think after spending an entire summer abroad the guy would have a hint of color.”

“David, you wouldn’t happen to be trying to find something wrong with this nice, respectful, caring guy, would you? He sounds kind of perfect to me.”

David rolled his eyes, rapping his fingertips on the table. “I mean, I guess the stupid hair kind of works for him”

“And the cargo shorts?” 

“Cargo shorts work for no one.” David exaggerated an apologetic look, which Patrick didn’t buy for a second. “Anyway, I have to go. I can talk to you literally anytime, but I only have a handful of hours left with him, so...”

They both let their hands fall to the table and leaned into each other, smiling as their lips locked.

“Oh, and you totally knew about the hat,” Patrick accused as they pulled apart.

“Excuse me?”

“You said you didn’t notice the hat in my pocket, but let’s not pretend that you went the past several hours without checking out my ass multiple times.”

David’s mouth hung open. “For being an extremely young, inexperienced person who literally _just_ discovered his sexuality _today_ , you are _very_ sure of yourself.”

Patrick shrugged. “When you got it, you got it.”

David raised his eyebrows and Patrick leaned in to kiss him again, turning his hat backwards as he did so and ignoring David’s muffled ‘ _ew’_ against his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and an extra big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment! I appreciate you so much! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and come hang with me on tumblr at [ paceyjay ](%E2%80%9Dpaceyjay.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)!


	5. The Prater

Patrick’s body hummed with adrenaline as they walked away from the museum. He strode down the street confidently, David by his side, and he swore he could feel the same exhilaration radiating from him.

Patrick held out his hand for David to take, looking up at him expectantly with a playful glint in his eye. David attempted a half-hearted eyeroll before lacing his fingers between Patrick’s, the gentle squeeze that followed telling Patrick just how much it meant to him.

“So did we just have our first fight?” Patrick asked after a few minutes of energy-filled silence.

David frowned and narrowed his eyes contemplatively. “Would we call that a fight?”

“I’d say so.”

“Seemed very tame to be considered a fight.”

“Would you rather call it a squabble?”

David grimaced. “Not particularly.”

“Hey,” Patrick said, nudging David with his elbow. “If we were around each other all the time, what do you think would be the first thing about me that would really piss you off?”

“I don’t know, you’re pretty inoffensive.”

“You’re going to pass up this chance to take a shot at me? Come on, I’m wide open.”

David pursed his lips. “Mkay, I’m getting the distinct feeling that you have an answer in mind for me, and I’m not so sure I want to hear it.”

“I don’t, I don’t. I just find it a little hard to believe that you didn’t immediately have one for me.”

“You’re like a baby deer, all you do is trit-trot through the forest and… help… baby bunnies… play baseball,” David stuttered, waving a dismissive hand at Patrick’s amused expression.

“So you don’t think we’d ever have any disagreements if we were together?” Patrick droned doubtfully.

“Okay, now that’s a completely different question. Maybe nothing would piss me off, but there’d be plenty of things that we’d disagree on.”

Patrick quirked a brow, interested in seeing where this was going. “Such as?”

David let out a dramatic breath. “Oh god, where do I begin? We’d for sure disagree on what movies to watch.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re _not_ a fan of _The Terminator_?” Patrick questioned, feigning surprise.

David snatched his hand away and shook it in front of him as if trying to rid himself of any _Terminator_ -fan cooties. “Ew!”

“ _Mission Impossible_?”

“I’m getting hives.”

“Come on, _Die Hard_.”

“I don’t think you’re joking, and it deeply saddens me.”

“Well, you’ve probably never given any of them a chance!”

“And I never will.”

“Just tell me you’ve seen _Fight Club_.”

“While shirtless Brad Pitt was enticing, it wasn’t nearly enough to lure me into a movie about men punching each other in a basement.’

“That is _not_ what it’s about, and that’s definitely what we’d watch on our second date.”

“What would we do on our first date?”

“This is our first date,” Patrick told him nonchalantly, still riding his high despite the fact that he missed the weight of David’s hand in his.

David’s mouth pulled into a half-smile, humming in agreement. “Then on our third date, we would definitely watch a collection of my favorite movies. _You’ve Got Mail, Notting Hill, Sleepless in Seattle, Roman Holiday, While You Were Sleeping, When Harry Met Sally, Pretty Woman, Bridget Jones’ Diary, Four Weddings and a Funeral, The Princess Bride_.”

Patrick smirked, amused by David’s passion and taste. “So our third date would be forty-eight hours long?”

“Well, whatever we’ve got to do to expose you to the greatest cinematic masterpieces of all time.”

“So basically, Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts plus a man in a suit equals masterclass cinema?”

“That’s oversimplifying it a bit but it’s not _not_ true.”

“Ah. And what if I told you I’ve seen most of those movies already?”

David took a moment, eyeing Patrick until he was satisfied that he was being truthful. “Then I would say that you continue to surprise me. But it would not change our third date plans.”

“Uh-huh.”

Patrick let himself imagine it: he and David, lounging on a plush gray couch in David’s surprisingly unostentatious Parisian apartment. They’d start with one of Patrick’s picks, because although David would beg to go first, Patrick would point out that David would most definitely lose interest in Patrick’s movie if they watched it second, so putting in the first slot at least gave it a fighting chance. David would begrudgingly agree, and they would spend the entire night alternating movie choices, making grand speeches as to why the particular movie was so great, and getting annoyed when the other said it was “just okay” – Patrick was sure he could banter with David like that for hours, every day for the rest of his life. They’d finish the last movie just as the pink morning light was making its way in, and they would fall asleep in each other’s arms while watching the sunrise.

He knew it was far-fetched and ridiculous and idealistic, and yet it felt so vivid that he could almost reach out and touch it, almost like a memory.

“I don’t know why I’m asking this,” David said, snapping Patrick out of his sappy dream. “I must be a glutton for punishment and want my already rock bottom self-esteem to take another devastating blow, but- what is it? What about me would piss you off?”

“Honestly, David?” Patrick stopped, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shrugged his shoulders and looked him square in the eye, soft but genuine. The sun was getting low in the sky, and the light that was cascading over David’s face reminded him again of entangled legs on a couch in Paris watching a sunrise through bleary eyes, hearts full. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. You pestered me about giving an answer and now you’re going with the cop-out of ‘nothing?’”

Patrick rolled his eyes as he began walking again. “I pestered you about it because I was sure you’d have an answer. And yeah, you’re dramatic and absurd and abrasive-“

“Okay, what happened to ‘nothing?’“

“But I love all of that about you.”

David froze. “I’m sorry, you- um, you-“

“I very much appreciate all of those traits in you, I should say,” Patrick rephrased.

“Mm, right, yes.” David shuffled his feet, mirroring Patrick with his hands in his pockets.

“So. We’ve established that we did not just have our first fight back there, nor would we ever have anything to fight about. This is starting to sound like kind of a good thing we’ve got goin’ here.”

“Well, you know what they say about good things.”

“They come to those who wait?” Patrick guessed.

“No, that they’re too good to be true. Or something like that.”

Patrick chuckled as he shook his head. “Every good thing is too good to be true?”

“Um, yeah, basically,” David chimed like it was a well-known fact. “There’s no such thing as a happy relationship.”

“Do you seriously believe that?”

David shrugged. “There may be happy moments but in general everyone’s miserable, right?”

“I’m guessing your parents are divorced, then?”

“No.”

“But you think they’re miserable?”

“I don’t know, probably. I mean, they get along and I did once find neckties tied to their bedposts so unfortunately I know that their sex life is thriving, and they throw money at all their problems and pretend everything’s okay but I don’t know that they’ve ever really been _happy_.” He shrugged, lips pursed and his expression giving nothing away. “But I guess that’s probably less because of their relationship and more about who they are as people in general. Alexis and I used to make bets as to how far Mom could make it into the day before popping her first pill. Latest she ever made it was noon. And Dad practically lived at work which I assume was to avoid the miserable aura of our home.”

Patrick cringed, despite David’s breezy telling of his family’s faults. “Jeez, I’m sorry, David.”

“It’s fine, I’m being dramatic,” David said, waving it off. “It’s not like we were abused or anything.”

“But you don’t like your parents.”

“Does anyone really _like_ their parents?”

Patrick remained silent, eliciting an eyeroll from David.

“Of course you do.”

“I do,” he admitted with a smile, thinking fondly of his childhood filled with nightly bedtime stories and family dinners, with parents who worked hard to give him everything he needed and yet never missed a sports game or a school play. “But, fair point; I guess a lot of people don’t really like their parents. But do you love your parents?”

David frowned, looking a bit repulsed by the notion. “Ew. That’s not something we…”

“Feel?”

“What am I, a fucking robot? I don’t know, our family just doesn’t… do that,” he stammered, more thrown off by the question than Patrick had expected.

“Do… love?”

“Okay, please never say _that_ again.”

Patrick chuckled, following David’s lead of keeping the mood light despite the heavy topic. “Okay, do your parents tell you they love you?”

“No.” David shrugged, face straight and tone solemn. “We just don’t do that.”

“Okay.” Patrick nodded, accepting the explanation, not wanting to push any further. He didn’t get the sense that David was holding back, anyway; it seemed like he was explaining the best he could, the only way he knew how. Maybe David didn’t know why his family wasn’t affectionate – maybe he’d wondered that himself too many times. The thought made Patrick’s stomach twist in knots.

“Now who’s judging?”

“I’m not,” Patrick retorted hastily, but his voice was gentle. “Really.”

“Mkay, well anyways.” David filled his lungs and let out a deep breath, clapping his hands together. “This is a topic that I’ve managed to avoid with Melanie for over 300 sessions now.”

“Sounds like maybe she’s not that good at her job then.”

David scoffed. “And yet I’m able to be within 4 feet of a moth without going into hysterics thanks to her, so you may want to rethink that.”

 “Okay, David,” Patrick conceded with a smile.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Patrick caught David’s hand in the corner of his eye, outstretched and waiting for him.

 

***** 

 

“Ich moechte dein hand lessen?”

David and Patrick turned to find a small woman smiling up at them, her dark wavy hair peppered with gray, her wrists weighed down with jingling bracelets.

“Uhh, Francais? English?” David offered.

“Want your palm read?” the woman asked again.

David shrugged at Patrick. “Sure, why not?”

The woman gestured for David’s hand and he held it in front of him, palm up, and they watched as she traced a gentle finger over it, knuckle to knuckle, thumb to wrist.

“You live in fear, but tell no one. That is no way to live. Your secrets will haunt you until you speak them.” She glanced up at David, locking eyes with him before turning her attention back to his palm. “You were drowning once. Maybe not anymore…”

The woman paused, brow furrowed as she closed her eyes for a moment. “No, but maybe still after all. You struggle to connect. Maybe this one you connect with,” she said, gesturing toward Patrick before dropping David’s hand and waiting expectantly for Patrick’s.

He gave a skeptical look to David before cautiously relinquishing his hand, brow quirked as he watched her repeat the process. Her delicate, boney fingers prodded and traced, sending a shiver down Patrick’s spine.

“Ah. You are on a journey.” The woman nodded as if she had just discovered everything there was to know about him through the touch of his hand. She looked deeply into Patrick’s eyes as she motioned toward David. “You help him. Maybe he help you too. You have many questions about life. You are finding who you are. He help with that. New friends, yes?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“Mm.” She looked at his palm once more before holding his hand tightly between both of hers. “Advice to you is, ah, how they say, practice what you preach, yes? You are good listener, you help people, be kind to them, but you must also help yourself. Maybe too kind, sometimes. Is not always good for you. Okay,” she said, releasing Patrick’s hands and rubbing her fingers together. “Money.”

Patrick gazed blankly at her while David pulled a few notes from his pocket, holding them up questioningly and handing them over once she nodded her approval.

The palm reader grinned and backed away slowly, her long flowy dress sweeping the ground as she moved gracefully, almost dancing. “You are both stars, don’t forget. And the stars exploded billions of years ago to form everything that is this world. Everything we know is stardust. So don’t forget, you are stardust!”

When she was out of earshot, Patrick scoffed. “Well, that was insightful.”

“She was pretty good. I should’ve seen if she could guess my zodiac sign.”

Patrick looked him over for any sign of sarcasm, but there was none to be found. “You didn’t really buy any of that did you?”

David shrugged. “Who knows? I mean, she knew that we were new friends, she knew that you were on a journey.”

“Okay, those are the most generic, obvious things she could say. We’re clearly tourists so of course I’m on a ‘journey,’” he said, making air quotes with his fingers, “and I’m sure she could tell that we haven’t known each other long.”

“We were holding hands, we didn’t exactly look like strangers.”

“Yeah, well,” Patrick said dismissively, trailing off. “Everything was ridiculously vague. ‘You’re drowning, or you were once.’ That could apply to literally anyone who has ever felt stressed or overwhelmed at any point in their entire lives. Real perceptive.”

“Maybe she was referring to the time I was actually physically drowning. That would not apply to _everyone_.”

“Okay, go on,” Patrick smirked, willing to get off his soapbox in exchange for David’s anecdote. “Distract me from my rant about the crazy palm reader with your near-death experience story.”

“Mm, buckle up cowboy,” he announced with uncertainty, and simply glared at Patrick’s befuddled headshake. “This is a good one. So this story begins, as so many do, with the cool kids throwing a pool party. You may find this a little shocking considering the force that I am today, but as a child I was not exactly cool.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“And on top of that, I didn’t know how to swim. This hair does not react well when wet so you can imagine why I hadn’t really had the desire to swim before. But stupid Eric LaBelle had to change his birthday party from a swanky ski lodge soiree in upstate New York, in which I could’ve stayed inside the warm cozy lodge the whole time, to a ridiculous water park jamboree. So I asked my parents to teach me, and my dad was too busy, and my mom said that I _did_ know how to swim and she was sure that I had taken extensive lessons when I was younger. She told me it was like riding a bike and that I’d know how to do it again as soon as I got in the water.” David paused, his eyes narrow and his mouth twisted into a frown. “Now that I think about it, it was a poor analogy anyways because I also didn’t know how to ride a bike, but anyways. I wanted to make sure before going to the party, so I went out to our pool and jumped in and – wait for it – did _not, in fact,_ know how to swim. Turns out my mom was thinking of the time she was one of those background ladies in a water aerobics workout video; she’d somehow confused the memory of herself doing kegels in a whirlpool with the false recollection of me taking swimming lessons.”

“Wow. Okay, um, few questions come to mind-”

“Fortunately, we had a good nanny at the time who actually did her job and was CPR trained, so she found me after a few minutes and revived me.”

“ _Revived you_?” Patrick repeated loudly, not expecting that detail. Up until then, he’d been sure that David was using the term ‘drowning’ very loosely and had probably just gotten a mouthful of water for a split second.

“But I was conscious again before the ambulance got there. If I had known that many people were going to see me in my bathing suit that day, I would’ve spent more time looking for my new one instead of wearing one that was 3 years old and made me look like a stuffed sausage.”

“David, do you think that’s normal?”

“I was a heavyset child, okay?”

“David,” Patrick said again, refusing to play along. He didn’t get it. David recounted the story as if he was simply telling Patrick what he’d had for breakfast. His parents didn’t know he couldn’t swim, or didn’t care enough to find out. In what world was that okay? Patrick’s mom took him to the local pool multiple times a week every summer since he could remember. His dad would take him on camping trips and they would spend hours swimming in the lake. David didn’t even know if his parents loved him.

“I don’t know, maybe not everyone drowns as a child, but everyone has some story about breaking their arm or stepping on a nail, right?”

“Yeah, sure, I just- I get the feeling that you think you have to be okay with everything that’s happened to you. But you don’t. Some stuff was really fucking shitty and it’s okay to think that.”

David pursed his lips, analyzing Patrick, looking like he wanted to believe him, but then he just shrugged. “What good does that do me?”

“How old were you?”

“Eight or nine.”

“And you had a pool but didn’t know how to swim?”

“Yeah… think that’s actually the only time I was ever in that pool. I mean between the hair thing and the general aversion to physical activity and the pure terror I felt at the idea of that much of my body seeing the light of day, I truly saw no need to ever get in the thing.”

“Wow.” Patrick nodded, taking it all in. “Okay, one more question: have you learned to swim since?”

“I have. And while I still typically avoid bodies of water for all the reasons previously mentioned, I have swam occasionally and don’t have, like, a debilitating fear or anything.”

After a moment of silence, Patrick said, “So when the palm reader said you were drowning, you really think-”

David snorted. “No, of course not. Obviously she meant something much deeper and even more pathetic. I was just trying to prove you wrong. But for real, her reading of you was pretty spot on.”

“Seriously? I’m ‘too nice?’ What does that mean?”

David looked at him out of the corner of his eye, brows raised and lips sucked in to hide a smile.

“What?” Patrick challenged.

“Nothing, it’s just that one of the few things I know about you is that you stayed in an unhappy relationship with your girlfriend for years because you didn’t want to hurt her…”

“Okay, okay,” Patrick interrupted, giving him a small shove. “So then you’re drowning, figuratively, and have lots of secrets.”

“That’s right, and you better be nice to me or I’ll never tell you any of them.”

“But they will haunt you until you speak them,” he moaned, mimicking the palm reader’s jazz hands. “I hope one of your secret fears isn’t heights.”

“I wouldn’t call it a fear, it’s more of an aversion. Why?”

“Because,” Patrick said, pointing at the Ferris wheel in the distance, “I think we have to do the one thing that that nice gentleman recommended to us.”

“Do we though?”

“I can think of nothing more romantic to do at sunset.”

“We could demolish a plate of chili cheese fries,” David offered.

Patrick chuckled and nodded in agreement. “We could.”

“But… that does look kind of… idyllic.”

“If you’re afraid of heights we don’t have to do it, David.”

“It’s an _aversion_ ,” he corrected before stroking his thumb over the back of Patrick’s hand. “And for some reason I’m feeling extra brave today.”

 

*****

 

The sky was streaked with hues of pink and purple as David and Patrick rode the Ferris wheel over the city, the people on the streets disappearing below them. Patrick took in the view, noting what made it unique – the glowing lights from the buzzing Prater, the gathering of trees beyond that, the ivory and russet buildings of Vienna.

“This is very beautiful.” David’s eyes sparkled, his knuckles resting lightly against the window of the gondola.

“Wow, coming from the Parisian that’s pretty high praise. Doesn’t your apartment have a view of the Eiffel Tower?”

David cringed. “I’m not going to lie to you, it does.”

“For real?”

“A little overrated, honestly.”

Patrick mentally added the Eiffel Tower to his watching the sunrise through the window fantasy, but the thoughts fell away as he watched David – a lock of dark hair falling onto his forehead, a small smile playing at his lips, face relaxed and content. It was truly breathtaking.

“Well, I’d take this view any day.”

David gave a small nod but stopped abruptly when he realized Patrick wasn’t looking out the window, his gaze instead fixed on him. Patrick watched with a smirk as a flush crept over David’s face, sure that his own was tinged with the same pink.

David ran his teeth over his bottom lip before placing his hands on either side of Patrick’s face and pulling him in closer, kissing him in a way that Patrick could only describe as tender. Patrick wrapped his arms around David’s waist, growing more confident and comfortable with each kiss, and yet each kiss still made him feel more and more alive.

Patrick’s heart sank as David pulled away suddenly. Patrick smirked and took a step forward, staring at David’s lips, but David stopped him, gripping his shoulders and holding him at arm’s-length.

“You know, at the record store, I did totally bail out by just choosing something by a guy with the same name as you.”

“Yes, I recall. Still unbelievable, but I’m willing to forget about it for the time being so we can do some more of _this_.” Patrick brought his hand to David’s face, moving to kiss him again and huffing loudly when David interrupted him.

“But… the song I picked was called _Something Pretty_.”

Patrick’s face softened, and he stroked David’s cheek warmly before dropping his hand to rub David’s arm, comforting and understanding. David didn’t let people in, that much was obvious, and yet he’d been slowly been opening up to Patrick all day, even in ways Patrick didn’t realize.

David took a deep breath before rambling on. “And I know that you weren’t really mocking my trauma with your song choice, you were actually being very sweet. I do recognize that. And appreciate it. I don’t know if that came across, but- yeah. And I also probably should’ve done something like that too but as I’ve mentioned, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, I struggle with just basic human emotions, so-”

“David, David.” Patrick wrapped his hands firmly around David’s biceps and waited for him to meet his eyes before continuing. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

 

*****

 

“Oh come on, are you kidding me?” Patrick pulled at his hair in frustration as he watched the baseball bounce against the backstop, the tower of milk bottles wobbling ever so slightly.

“It’s fine, I still think you’re very manly and sportsy and all that,” David commented from his place beside him, leaning against the carnival stand and examining his cuticles, clearly making every effort to look as bored as possible.

“It’s not about that, those were three _perfect_ throws, there’s no way- those bottles have got to be glued down. One more try.”

“Come on,” David whined. “You don’t even want any of the stupid prizes, you’re just doing this for your stupid ego.”

“It’s rigged! It’s the principle of it!”

“I am wasting away over here. If I have to watch you throw one more ball, I may literally be too weak to leave this place, forcing me to watch you throw the stupid balls on a loop forever and ever until I die of either boredom or starvation.”

“You ate like a five-course meal of deserts at the museum!”

“You’ve known me since this morning and you still haven’t learned that if I go more than an hour without eating, I get ravenous?”

Patrick sighed, giving the devious bottles one last look. “Okay. This is not giving up, this is me graciously stepping away and letting the bottles keep their dignity.”

David bowed graciously before immediately steering them toward a food truck. They placed their orders and spent a good minute fighting over who was going to pay, David eventually winning out, insisting that Patrick had already spent way too much money on pointless carnival games. Once they had their hot dogs, and once they’d both made their obligatory juvenile jokes about eating big sausages, they found an empty bench to occupy.

“You know, I should’ve totally seen this whole competitive thing coming but for some reason I’m like, blindsided right now,” David said in between bites.

“I’m not _that_ competitive,” Patrick replied, unconvincing.

“Mhm. Well, fortunately, I will never do anything sporty with you so at least the competitiveness will never be a problem for us.” David’s face fell as soon as the words left his mouth. “I don’t know why I said that. Can we forget I just said that?”

“Why?”

“Because something came over me and I acted like we’re going to be a thing when this can never be a thing.”

Patrick shrugged, fingers toying absentmindedly with the paper tray in his hands. “It could be a thing.” Watching movies until dawn. Falling asleep in each other’s arms. Rolling their eyes at the romantic view of the Eiffel Tower.

“No, it couldn’t.”

“Why not? Long-distance things exist.”

“They’re things for a little while until they’re inevitably not anymore. People say they’ll call, they’ll write, they’ll visit. But they don’t. Best case scenario, we’d talk on the phone a lot for a couple weeks, and then it’d just sort of fade out until we pretty much forgot each other.”

“You’re not the kind of person someone forgets.”

David’s mouth fell into a thin line. “In my experience, I’m the kind of person people tend to want to forget.”

Patrick furrowed his brow, his fists clenching, knuckles pressing into the cold metal bench seat. “Well, not me,” he said with as much conviction as he could, trying to make up for every asshole who had ever made David feel like he wasn’t worth remembering.

David fumbled with the zipper on his jacket, looking deep in thought. “You know how you said this has been the best day of your life? It’s been the best day of mine too. Like, by far. And I would love for it to last forever, but it won’t. Even if we stay in touch, it won’t always be like this. And then this night will be taken away from us, you know? At least if we just have tonight…” he paused, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and looking around, as if the right words to say were floating somewhere behind Patrick’s head. Finally, he gave up, slouching against the bench and sighing in defeat. “We’ll always have tonight, as painfully cheesy as that sounds.”

Sure, that made sense. Patrick knew how so many relationships fizzled out – he’d been living in that reality for far too long to be naïve to it. Every broken relationship started with two people thinking they were madly in love with each other. He’d be stupid to think that the intense, vibrant, absolutely insane feelings he had for David guaranteed them a lifetime of happiness together.

And yet he’d be willing to risk that – the fighting, the breakup, the hurt that they might bestow on each other – Patrick would happily take that chance to spend even one more night with David.

But that was crazy. Patrick knew that too. So instead, he said, “You’re probably right. I wouldn’t want this to be tainted in any way.”

“Yes, exactly.” Patrick could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in David’s eyes; or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. “Trust me, a couple more days and you’d get real sick of me real quick.”

“You would get very annoyed with my sports references.”

“And you would get tired of hearing about how I chose my outfit every day.”

“And I’d have nothing to talk about other than what I’m learning in my business classes.”

“And I would grow to resent you for being so boring.”

“So it’s really for the best that we just let this exist as it is,” Patrick declared, convincing himself it was true.

“Right. Just one night.”

“One night. That’s it. No phone numbers, no emails.”

“No expectations.”

“Right. Just a perfect memory. So perfect that ten years from now I’ll probably look back on it and wonder if it was even real.”

David returned his sad smile and nodded in agreement. Patrick looked away, trying his hardest to focus on the people walking by, the spinning Ferris wheel, the wind on his face; anything other than an impossible sunrise through a far-away Paris window.


	6. The Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains drug use (marijuana).

“Never have I ever... dyed my hair.”

David folded down a finger and Patrick raised an eyebrow. “The summer of ‘98 was not good for me,” David explained before taking his turn. “Never have I ever hit a goal.”

“We said no more sports ones! Especially since I’m not even sure what sports you’re referencing anymore.”

“And again I argue that it is _not_ cheating, but fine. Never have I ever used the word ‘hella’ unironically.”

Patrick recoiled, looking insulted. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

“I just had to make sure!” David said defensively, holding his hands in the air.

“Well that was a waste of a question and you are two fingers away from getting very wet,” Patrick reminded him and gestured to the canal just to their right.

“That is not the first time I’ve heard that, actually.”

Patrick smirked. “Speaking of… never have I ever had sex with a guy.”

David rolled his eyes. “Now who’s the cheater? What happened to no asking questions you know the answer to?”

“I didn’t for sure know the answer! But,” he continued, ignoring David’s disbelieving glower, “my win will feel cheap if you think I cheated, so I take it back. Never have I ever had sex with someone more than 10 years older than me.”

David’s eyes darted around, his jaw jutting out to the side. “We can go back to the other question, I overreacted-“

“Oh, no, no, David. Fair is fair. I wouldn’t want to be accused of cheating again.” Patrick squinted mischievously at David’s grimace. “And I actually meant to say twenty years older than me.”

Patrick smiled as David lowered his index finger, purposefully leaving the middle finger as the last man standing. “Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “Moving on.”

“…Thirty?” Patrick prompted.

“This is definitely not how this game works.”

“Just curious!”

“Okay, all the salacious things I want to ask you about would require me to put a finger down as well, so this is really no fun,” David pouted, waving his last finger in front of Patrick’s face for emphasis.

Patrick swatted playfully at it. “You can just make the questions specific to things I’ve done with women.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why n- Ohh. Oh,” Patrick sputtered, David’s matter-of-fact expression helping him connect the dots. “Sorry, that was stupid, I don’t know why I assumed-“

“It’s fine,” David reassured him, shrugging it off. “I’m just really not picky when it comes to the ‘what’ of who someone is.”

Patrick smiled fondly at him. “Just when I think you’re done surprising me.”

“Ah! There, never have I ever had a surprise party thrown for me.”

“Nope,” Patrick intoned, raising his three fingers a little higher as a boast. “Always wanted one, though.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” He laid a pitying hand on Patrick’s forearm. “That’s just sad.”

“It’s alright, I’ve had plenty of great parties thrown for me, just not surprise ones.”

“Oh no, I meant it’s sad that you _want_ a surprise party,” David frowned, shuddering. “Ew. I’d rather spend yet another birthday at one of Reese and Ryan’s insipid Wild Wild West-themed fourth of July parties.”

“Well apparently you’ve never had one, so how can you know for sure you wouldn’t like it?” Patrick thought he could probably throw David a pretty good surprise party – at the very least, one he wouldn’t _hate_. Not that they’d ever know, of course; but, for the record, he was pretty sure he could.

“Um, I’ve never done shrooms with Kirk Cameron but I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that I would not enjoy the experience. Anyway, I guess I did _kind of_ have a surprise party for my fifteenth birthday, but it was really just a coverup for my parents forgetting me in Venice.”

“I’m sorry, forgetting you in Venice?” Patrick echoed, and he wasn’t sure why he was surprised by anything David said anymore and yet, here he was.

“Kind of like a reverse Home Alone situation? We were on vacation and were supposed to fly back home the day before my birthday, but no one thought to wake me up the morning of our flight and I guess my parents assumed I was with the nanny and the nanny assumed I was with my parents. I was there another _four_ _days_ before my parents finally returned my calls, at which point I brought to their attention the fact that, hi, I wasn’t with them. When I finally got home they yelled ‘surprise’ and told me that the plan all along was for Venice to be a misdirect and they intentionally abandoned me there just so that they could ‘plan’ a surprise party which really only consisted of my dad holding one single balloon like he was trying to lure children into a windowless van.” David took a breath and pressed the pads of his fingers into his palm, shrugging like it was all nothing more than a small annoyance. “But regardless, surprise parties are just _tacky_.”

“Okay, once again, a lot to unpack there… let’s just put a pin in that, yeah?” He heard David coolly mumble something along the lines of ‘that’s really about it’ and continued, “Never have I ever made a sex tape. Like, with someone else,” he added.

Patrick wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his lips, and David’s bemused expression only heightened that sentiment. “Was there a reason you felt the need to clarify that?” David asked, sounding ever so tickled.

“No, because like, you know… just not like, you, alone, by yourself. Just ‘cause I’ve heard that that’s like, a thing, you know, that some people do.”

David smiled, vaguely resembling a Cheshire cat. He was enjoying this far too much. “I’m sorry, have you made a lot of sexy time tapes of you fondling yourself? You don’t seem the type.”

“A girlfriend was into it, and she asked me once, and so for Valentine’s Day…” he stammered. “Anyway, whatever, question still stands.”

“I feel no shame saying that Winona was very convincing, and her publicist promised me that they would do some retouching if they ever decided to leak it.” David folded his final finger down and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Well, there you have it. Does that feel good, feel like a well-earned victory?”

“Oh, feels great, yeah,” Patrick confirmed fervently. “Okay, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m not actually going to make you jump into the river.”

“A kindness that I can’t say I would have shown if the situation were reversed.”

“Instead, since I just revealed something slightly embarrassing to you, you can just tell me something embarrassing about yourself.”

“On second thought, the layer of scum on top of the water really does look refreshing.”

“Oh, then by all means-“

“Excuse me. Uh, excuse me.” Patrick and David turned to find the source of the interruption, their eyes landing on a man sitting by the canal. His dirty blond hair hung in his eyes, and he wore a barely-buttoned white shirt under an ill-fitting blazer. “Speak English, yes? May I ask you a question?”

 They took a few steps toward him, Patrick nodding permission for the man to continue.

“I would like to make a deal with you. Instead of just asking you for money, I will ask you to give me a word. I will take the word and use it in a poem. And then, if the poem is okay, if you feel it maybe adds to your life in any way, then you can pay me whatever you see fit. This sound okay?”

David raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to brush the man off, but Patrick shrugged. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

“Okay, pick a word,” the man said eagerly. “Any word you’d like.”

“Train,” Patrick blurted at the same time as David flatly offered, “Defenestration.”

The man looked at them for a moment, amused, then chuckled. “Okay, it’s no problem, I will use both. Give me just few minutes.”

“Kay,” David squeaked, and he grabbed Patrick’s elbow and steered him out of the man’s earshot.

“Defenestration?” Patrick questioned, settling down on a nearby stoop.

David reluctantly used his hand to brush the dirt off the steps before sitting down next to him. “These pants cost more than your entire summer in Europe,” he explained before rolling his eyes and shooting back his response. “And _train_? Come up with something more saccharine, why don’t you?”

Patrick beamed, smug. “You love it.”

David rolled his eyes again, this time with a smile that told Patrick he was absolutely right. “Very nice of you to humor him.”

“What can I say, I appreciate his hustle.”

“Well, I’m eager to find out if the poem adds something to your life. Might be a revelatory, life-changing catalyst and lucky little me gets a front-row seat!” David said, his voice jumping an octave and his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, just as they always did when playing up his fervent sarcasm.

“And I’m eager to hang out with my new poet pal as we watch you jump into the river. Or listen to your embarrassing story. We’ll be a captive audience either way.”

“Ya know, that time has passed, I think we’ve moved on.”

“Mhm,” Patrick hummed, but let it go. He knew if he pushed, David would willingly tell him some ridiculous and humiliating anecdote as payment for his loss, but Patrick suddenly decided that he didn’t want to hear it. He already knew how it would go: something shallowly funny yet deeply painful. ‘I shit myself when my mom drunkenly ran me over with her car’ or ‘all my hair was burned off when I tried to light the candles on the birthday cake that I had to make for myself.’ Something like that; something that David would laugh off, something that would make Patrick feel sick.

If David really wanted to tell him those things then Patrick would be more than willing to listen, but he wouldn’t push anymore. He’d done enough of that, and although David didn’t seem to mind, Patrick also got the feeling that David had told him more in one day than he’d told anyone else in his lifetime, and he couldn’t imagine how draining that must be.

So he pulled back, trying not to think about all the stories David had yet to tell. “Alright, how about instead of jumping in the river or telling me something embarrassing about yourself, you have to ask me the salacious questions you wanted to ask but couldn’t for fear of losing the game. Which, I’d just like to point out, you did anyway.”

“Yes, thank you, we have established that I lost and you won.” David gave an exaggerated nod, his light and easy expression cutting through Patrick’s melancholy thoughts. “What will satisfy your competitive spirit? Do you like, need a medal or a trophy, your name in the paper, something?”

“No, no. Just the questions will be enough.”

“But they’re questions that I wanted to ask, so I don’t see how that’s a prize for you.”

Patrick shrugged. “I want to hear them. And to be fair, my first choice was to watch you get your hair wet, but I’m settling.”

“Um, okay, keeping in mind that these questions are for you and cannot be turned on me… have you ever hooked up with someone you shouldn’t have?”

Patrick thought for a moment, chewing his lip as he went back through the fairly short list in his mind. “No, no I think they were all fine. Although senior year of high school I almost hooked up with my history teacher. She was only four years older than me and was totally giving me vibes, right? So when she offered to tutor me after school I was sure it was gonna happen, I mean I had like a B-, I didn’t need tutoring.”

“And?” David prompted after a beat, eyeing Patrick expectantly.

“And that’s it, nothing ever happened, she just tutored me every day. I stopped going after three weeks when it was clearly going nowhere. Wasn’t even helping my grade because I spent the entirety of every session wondering when she was going to make a move.”

“You let her tutor you for three weeks and _you_ never made a move?”

“No! She was my teacher! She should’ve been the one to make a move, I sure as shit couldn’t!”

David pouted his lips and looked at Patrick like he was the most adorably pathetic being he’d ever laid eyes on.  “You know how you find my stories amusing because to you they’re crazy and shocking?” He patted the top of Patrick’s head before letting his fingers play with a few unruly curls. “I find your stories amusing for the exact opposite reason.”

“I’ve got plenty of crazy and shocking stories,” Patrick told him. He was aware he grew up in a small town and maybe led a semi-sheltered life, but he’d never felt like a stiff. In high school, getting drunk or high in someone’s smoke-filled, poorly lit garage with teenagers dancing awkwardly around the beer pong tables to bad music blasting out of a boombox was a weekly thing, but he knew that paled in comparison to… literally everything David had ever done.

“Oh?” David chirped, not at all trying to hide his skepticism.

“Yeah.” Patrick paused, wracking his brain for a single story that had any chance of being labeled as _crazy_ or _shocking_. “I, like, basically almost banged my history teacher.”

David cackled at that, and Patrick’s heart swelled at the sight: head thrown back, the corners of his eyes crinkling beautifully, an arresting smile spread wide across his face. Patrick wanted to make him laugh like that every day for the rest of his life.

“Alright, I think I just got the answer to all the salacious questions I was going to ask,” David said and slapped his palms on his knees. “Ah, and just in time.”

Patrick followed David’s gaze to the poet approaching them, tearing a sheet of paper out of his leather-bound notebook as he walked.

“It’s finished. May I?”

Patrick nodded. “Please,” he encouraged, gesturing for the man to present his work.

“Warm like summer, your hand in mine.  
Train goes by and whispers to me,  
sweet nothings.  
I am the leaves and you are a breeze,  
Rustling, rustling, do you know?  
You let go, my heart shatters;  
Death by defenestration.  
Window to my soul an empty looking glass.  
How many years bad luck?  
I am a delusional angel,  
I am a fantasy paradise.  
And who are you  
if not a limousine daydream  
and the cold air on my skin?  
Train goes by, talks to me,  
shouts and shouts.  
Where did you come from?  
Where have you gone?  
But really who am I, at all?”

The man smiled and held out the paper. Patrick accepted it, folding it and slipping it into his back pocket.

 “That was great, thank you,” he told the poet as he dropped a few coins into his hand.

The man grinned and gave a small bow. “Thank you, thank you, enjoy.”

“Guy’d make a decent songwriter,” Patrick declared as they resumed their stroll along the canal.

“Ah, you enjoyed that?”

“Not too shabby.”

“Okay,” David said, tight-lipped.

“What, you were impressed by the fortune teller but find it disappointing when a guy uses his actual talent to make a buck?”

“You throw the word ‘talent’ around very loosely,” David accused, his hands dancing in front of him. “Limousine daydream? I mean…”

“It was very open to interpretation, I like that.” Patrick tilted his head to the side, reconsidering the piece. “Although he did get a little Cotton-Eyed Joe at the end there, huh?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Patrick tittered and casually hooked his index finger in David’s back pocket and pulled him close, barely realizing he was doing it – almost like it was natural, out of habit. “Um, back to an earlier question that I had: defenestration?”

“The act of being thrown out a window,” David deadpanned.

“What the fuck…”

“Happened to my mom on her s-“ David stopped, touching his fingertips to his lips and shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“Your mom was thrown out a window?”

“Not exactly, and to avoid-slash-change the subject I’m going to do this,” and he leaned in, putting his hand on the small of Patrick’s back and using it as leverage to pull him closer. Patrick’s lips parted welcomingly and any thoughts about how David’s mom wasn’t _exactly_ thrown out a window floated away, his mind unable to form a thought, his body unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of David’s tongue teasing his own.

When they broke apart, Patrick smiled at the ground before letting his eyes dance upward to catch a glimpse of David, whose sheepish smile mirrored Patrick’s own. They both laughed for a reason Patrick couldn’t quite put his finger on; maybe at how perfect it all was, or how insane it seemed, or because the happiness that they felt just couldn’t be contained inside them any longer.

“So he used it correctly,” Patrick observed as they started walking again, his cheeks still burning. He pulled out his hat and stuck it on his head just to momentarily give his hands something to do. “Death by defenestration, window to my soul shattered or whatever.”

“It made no fucking sense, but yes technically I’d say he used it correctly.”

“Better writer than you gave him credit for I guess.”

“Mkay, I would bet my Lambo that he not only has a dictionary hidden away but also a template into which he just plugs in whatever words people give him and calls it _original_.”

“Okay, David,” Patrick sing-songed, and he looked closely to see if David smiled at his patronizing tone. He watched the corner of his mouth tug upwards, and Patrick beamed with pride with the knowledge that he had already learned how to walk that fine line with David, knew just how much to tease, just how many buttons he could push. “Hey, what would you be doing right now if you hadn’t got off the train? Would you be in Paris yet?”

 “Umm not quite yet. I’d probably be having a threesome with that German couple in the lounge car.”

“Ah, right.”

“I can’t help but wonder if I made the right decision. Part of me thinks I’d be having a lot more fun with them.”

“Sure, that’s a given,” Patrick played along, knocking his elbow against David’s. “But would you have made the emotional connection that we’ve forged here?”

“Hard to say, really.” There was that smile again- the one that David struggled to let himself show, almost like he didn’t think he deserved to smile that much. He cleared his throat and twisted the rings on his hand. “And how about you? What would you be doing if I were a little more stable and sane and had stayed on the train?”

 Patrick shrugged, cupping the bill of his cap to readjust it. “Probably most of the same stuff.”

“Well I sure do feel special, thanks so much.”

“But it would’ve been a lot more depressing,” he promised, placing a reassuring hand on David’s shoulder. “I probably would’ve hung out in the record store for a while, maybe teamed up with that river poet guy to put some music to his lyrics.”

“Oh god, please please please tell me you’re not some amateur singer-songwriter tool.” David brought his steepled fingers up to his chin, like he was praying that Patrick would say he was joking.

“I’ve been known to frequent open mic nights, hosted a few in high school. I may have been called the next Bob Dylan here and there, ya know,” Patrick embellished, thoroughly enjoying David’s discomfort.

“Oh my.”

“Come on, don’t you have enough faith in me to believe I would know if I really sucked?”

David squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his clenched fists in the air. “No no no no, oh god, oh god it’s all happening in my head, I can see it and hear it and it’s so _painful oh my god_ how embarrassing for you.”

“I’ll have you know that the residents of Sunrise Senior Center are positively enthralled when I perform there. I’ve gotten more marriage proposals than I can count. All from people well over the age of eighty, but still.”

David stared at him, partly unsettled, partly in awe. “You are so innocent and wholesome and _twee,_ Jesus.”

“Oh yeah, you think so? Well, I think I just thought of our next activity then, just to prove you wrong.” He dug deep in his front pocket and pulled out a small bag containing what was left of his weed.

“Surely my eyes are deceiving me,” David said breathily, hands clutching his chest. “You, picture of innocence, breaking the law? My word!”

“Not as pure and wholesome as you thought, huh? Besides, it wasn’t illegal when I bought it. Who goes to Amsterdam and doesn’t buy pot?”

“Ok, A, pretty sure you bringing it here does make it illegal, and yet also B, if you think being in possession of a gram of marijuana makes you Pablo Escobar, then that really says a lot about you as a person.”

“Yeah, says that I’m rebellious and unpredictable,” Patrick quipped, waggling an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes, exactly what I was thinking.”

“If you’re going to keep making fun of me then I can just smoke this by myself, I mean-“

“Okay, well, can we please find a more secluded place to indulge?” David suggested, snatching the bag out of Patrick’s loose fingers and stuffing it into his own jacket pocket. “I do not need this night to end with me calling my parents to bail me out of jail.”

“You mean you’re not ready for me to meet your parents, yet? Man, and here I thought we were there.”

“I know you’re kidding, but I can literally feel my blood pressure rising.”

Patrick chuckled. “Not to worry, David. I think I know the perfect place. If I were anything but bad to the bone-“

“Agh!”

“-would I be bold enough to suggest that we smoke up in there?” Patrick finished, pointing at the imposing church in front of them.

“Yes, what was it you said? Rebellious and unpredictable? Yeah, yes, that’s it, you got it,” David rambled, both hands squeezing Patrick’s shoulders from behind as he followed him to the looming structure. “Yep, that is you in a nutshell.”

 

*****

 

“Do gods even take a stance on drugs?” David asked, tilting his head to rest in his hand, elbow propped up on the back of the church pew. “I don’t know why we should feel like this is wrong.”

“No idea.” Patrick snatched the joint from David’s outstretched hand and took a hit, letting his lungs fill. “We were those people who would go to church on Christmas and Easter with my grandma when I was little, but after she died we stopped going. I didn’t even know church was a weekly thing for some people when I was a kid. Thought it was only for holidays, weddings, and funerals.”

“I’m a delightful half-half situation, which meant we got Hanukkah and Christmas presents, but we were never really religious.”

Patrick hummed intently. “Were you bar mitzvahed?”

“Mm, yes, my parents would never turn down a good reason to throw a party.”

“But since it was your bar mitzvah, they of course planned a party that you would love, with all your favorite foods and music, and only people you actually liked, right?” he asked snidely, already knowing the answer.

“Wow, you really hold nothing back, huh?”

Patrick blinked slowly, scanning David’s face to determine if he’d just messed everything up. “Sorry, I’ve been known to lose all inhibitions while under the influence.”

David snorted. “Within an hour of meeting me you asked me to spend the night with you. I’d say it’s just how you are.” His face was soft, still looking at Patrick like he’d hung the moon, so Patrick gathered that he hadn’t fucked things up too badly.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think it is how I am. Guess it’s just something you bring out in me. But I really am sorry. I don’t want to be…” he trailed off, losing his train of thought as he watched David’s jaw muscles quiver as he took a pull of the joint.   

“Be what?” David asked, stifling a cough.

His words snapped Patrick back to himself, and he continued, “I don’t know, I get the sense that you wish people held back more in your life.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you said people always want to forget you, and you think you’re exhausting to be around, you mentioned people have cheated on you and used you and put you down, you couldn’t think of anyone in your life that would qualify as a friend, and you admitted that the people you surround yourself with aren’t respectful or kind or caring-“

“Wow!” David cut him off, eyes wide. “Okay! I’m going to completely gloss over how painfully pathetic that sounds when you say it all together like that instead jump straight to: you really listen to everything I say, huh?”

Patrick shrugged. “Not much else to do,” he told him, but his warm smile said much more.

David’s pursed lips and ardent gaze thanked him. “Well, you’re right. Most people I wish would hold more back. But that’s because those people say things that hurt me. But you say things because-“ he paused, and Patrick could tell he was trying to choose his words too carefully. “It just feels like you’re always on my side.

“I am,” Patrick insisted, not letting himself say the rest of that sentence aloud. No implying a future here. They’d already agreed on that. Instead, he went with, “I’m sorry you’ve had people like that-“

“Stop apologizing for things that you have no control over.”

“I’m sorry, it just pisses me off.”

David shrugged. “A part of me hates them, but another part of me can’t really blame them.”

“Why not?”

“Because we all hurt each other. It’s human nature.”

Patrick rolled his eyes at David’s callous tone. “That’s not true.”

“Um, yes, it is. Can you think of one person in your life that you’ve never hurt? I know I can’t. So what makes me any better than any of the people who’ve hurt me?” David rubbed at his eyes and exhaled heavily. “That gets into a deeper conversation of what really makes people good or bad, and I think we’d need a lot more of _this_ to get into that conversation,” he said as he scooted closer and placed the cigarette between Patrick’s lips.

Patrick breathed in deeply, slowly, staring into David’s eyes as David smiled back, watching Patrick like nothing existed but him. Patrick couldn’t recall anyone ever looking at him like that before.

“Okay, maybe we all hurt each other,” he replied eventually. “But that’s not what matters. What really matters is everything surrounding it. The intent behind it, the remorse or lack thereof after it, the penance. Those are the things that tell you if someone is good or bad.” He licked his lips, feeling incredibly focused, still unable to tear his eyes away from David’s. “You said it yourself: people said things that they knew would hurt you, right? Did they care about your feelings at all? Did they feel bad or do anything to make amends?”

“Mm,” David hummed noncommittally.

“And how about you? How often have you intentionally hurt someone close to you and felt no remorse?” David gave a small resigning head tilt, and Patrick snapped his fingers in victory before driving his index finger forcefully into the wooden seat. “That’s what makes you better than all those assholes.”

David groaned to offset his dimpled smirk. “Fine, I’m a saint, everyone should aspire to be like me. I get it and you’re not wrong.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said, satisfied, even if David was just humoring him. “I, on the other hand, let my girlfriend believe that I was coming to have some big, romantic, reunion vacation and then proceeded to break her heart and leave her in a foreign country where she has no family and basically no friends.” He felt his throat get scratchy, a sudden heat behind his eyes. He’d thought he would just poke fun at his own situation to make David feel better about himself; he hadn’t expected the wave of guilt that was now washing over him. “She thought we were going to spend time planning our future together, and I knew she thought that, and I didn’t do anything to warn her. I let her think everything was fine until it was over. Does that make me a bad person?”

David rubbed Patrick’s arm gently. “I don’t think so, but I clearly have very low standards. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I guess I hope that I’m a good person who makes some shitty choices,” Patrick said honestly.

“I would concur with that. You know my stance on your fashion choices,” David simpered, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You really don’t think Rachel had any idea it was coming?”

“I don’t think she wanted to let herself think there was anything wrong. Honestly, she’s probably still thinking we’ll get back together,” Patrick admitted, the idea making his head spin.

“Have you heard from her at all?”

He shook his head. “The only people I call are my parents. I’m sure they’re talking to her and telling her where I am, but they haven’t mentioned it to me.”

“Well, as someone who is almost exclusively the breakup-ee rather than the breakup-er, I can confidently say that Rachel’s very lucky you’re even still thinking about her at all.”

“Um, thanks? I guess?”

“I just mean it’s nice that you care.”

“I don’t think it’s any consolation to her right now.”

“Well, it should be some consolation to you at least.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Patrick sighed, lifting his hat up to run his fingers through his hair before placing it back on his head.

“You know, I am not a fan of baseball hats,” David declared, and Patrick was grateful for the deliberate change of subject.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he laughed, wiping away the few tears that had escaped his eyes. “Your face really doesn’t hide anything.”

“I’m not a fan of sporty caps in _most_ cases. I find them to be incorrect far more often than not. However, on the rare occasion that I do see someone inexplicably _working_ one, I always want to do this.”

He swiftly turned the cap around on Patrick’s head, and before Patrick could ask what made backward hats any more correct, David was kissing him, his hands firmly holding Patrick’s face, fingers curling in the hairs at the nape of his neck.

Patrick smiled into it and let the kiss ground him, or maybe it was taking him away; either way, he let himself fall.

 

*****

 

They were sprawled out in a pew, David’s legs stretched in one direction and Patrick’s in another, the tops of their heads nearly touching. The cashed joint rested on Patrick’s chest, still pinched between his thumb and index finger, and his hat lay strewn in the aisle, both long forgotten.

“It’s crazy to think about how no one knows we’re here,” Patrick said, his voice rough from the smoke and tears and lack of sleep. “We haven’t told anyone that we’re in Vienna. So it’s kind of like the whole ‘if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound’ thing, right?” He smiled blearily and nodded, confident in his analogy. “Like, if no one knows we’re here, it’s kind of like we’re not.”

“My hand doesn’t really feel like it’s connected to my body, so maybe we’re _not_ here.”

“Kind of feels like we’re in our own reality, you know? Our own universe. We’re living out this completely surreal night, and it’s like our time together is just ours. It's our own creation.” Patrick scratched his head, going over the words again and again in his mind. Very profound, he thought. “That either made an insane amount of sense or none at all.”

“I want to say none at all, and yet I’m confused because I one hundred percent get it.” David giggled, a sound that genuinely made Patrick’s heart flutter. “It’s like we’re in a dream. Not in a sappy cloud nine way, just in the way that – in a dream, it feels like you’re the only person with an actual consciousness, and all the other people in it aren’t real. Like they’re props or robots or something.”

“Yes!” Patrick shouted, thrilled that David knew just what he meant. “Yes, exactly. And in the morning when we leave, it’ll be just like waking up from a dream.” He picked absently at a small hole in the thigh of his jeans, taking in the unexpected weight of his own words.

“You know those dreams that are like super significant or interesting or wild, at least to you, and so then you go to tell someone about it and realize that it just doesn’t come across that way at all? That’s what this is like,” David declared. “Not that I’ll be telling anyone about this night anyway, but if I did, they wouldn’t get it. There’s like, not words that exist to explain it properly.”

“Totally.”

David giggled again. “That was some good pot.”

“Amsterdam, baby!” Patrick exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. “ _Hella_ good shit.”

David made a noise of disgust before reaching a hand over his head and clumsily dragging it over Patrick’s face until it found his mouth, patting it lightly and shushing him. Patrick smiled against David’s fingers, his breath hot against David’s clammy hand.

“You just think you’re soooo funny, don’t you?”

“I know I am,” Patrick said cockily, his words muffled.

He could practically feel David rolling his eyes and biting his cheek to suppress his grin. And then, as the weight of David’s hand left his face, it was replaced with a heaviness in the air, like something had suddenly shifted, but Patrick didn’t know what.

“Stay there, okay?” David said softly, his voice having lost all the lightness and fun that it had possessed just moments ago. “Because I can only say what I’m about to say because you’re not looking at me. And probably also because I’m slightly high.”

“Okay…” Patrick’s stomach did somersaults as he braced himself for whatever was coming. In the silence as David mustered up the courage to speak, Patrick went over the last few minutes in his head, trying to see if he had missed something.

“This _is_ like a dream for me.” Patrick heard movement from David, and without looking at him he could see David covering his eyes with his hand, like he couldn’t look either; like the fact that he was letting these words fall out of his mouth was too much already, and if he had to stare at the tall ceiling on top of hearing his own voice and feeling the stiff bench beneath him it would result in a major sensory overload. “In a sappy, cloud nine way. You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more.”

Patrick shifted slightly, feeling like he needed to kiss him or hold him or look into his eyes and tell him that was okay – reassure him that no one would spontaneously combust if he were to share a look and his deepest thoughts at the same time.

“Don’t,” David stopped him. “Just stay.”

Patrick let himself sink back into the pew and raised an arm instead, his hand finding the side of David’s head, fingertips offering the gentlest of touch there, and David breathed into it like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you still sticking with me! I appreciate you more than you know!
> 
> Come hang with me on tumblr @ paceyjay


End file.
